Untold Tales of the Traitor Spy Trilogy
by cece1994
Summary: "I'm still here. Keep going. Keep fighting. Don't be afraid, you've got this. Whatever happens- I'm still here." Welcome to my final fic!
1. Life Goes On

**Untold Tales of The Traitor Spy Trilogy**

Chapter One: Life Goes On

"_I want to live my life_

_The way you said I would._

_With courage as my light,_

_Fighting for what's right-_

_Like you made me believe I could..."_

They tell you it gets easier, those people who are apparently in the know. It gets easier, they tell you, as they rub your back in a consolatory sort of way, and murmur other assorted comforts in your ear. You will feel normal again. You will feel joy again, I promise you. Life goes on- because it has to.

What they don't tell you is that you will eventually reach a plateau of "ease", as it were. That the scrape-scrape sensation of grief in your mind never completely disappears. That if you feel around for it, you will always be able to find the slight bump of the scar that bereavement has left over your heart. It gets easier, somehow, but it never goes away. Because love never goes away.

Dear friends, when we last saw Sonea, we left her watching a new day and age of her life beginning. Now, it would be naïve of me to presume that Sonea greeted every dawn with as much enthusiasm- in fact, I can tell you as an absolute certainty she met some sun rises with tears of frustration, sighs of impatience and thoughts of _please, just stop, I've had enough of all this now. Please- just stop being dead. _But that doesn't prove anything except that Sonea was as human and imperfect as I am.

However, on this particular morning where we reunite with her- things were alright.

She woke to a pale, almost ill looking sunrise, which made her smile wryly. Sometimes the sun is as reluctant to greet the new day as we are. With a mechanical ease that showed years of going through these motions countless times, Sonea stretched out her limbs, pulled the bed sheets away, dragged herself away from their warmth and to her wardrobe.

_The one good thing about robes- one never has a crisis of conscience as to what to wear…_

She pulled on the black cloth, wrapped her hair into place and checked her reflection in the mirror. People had told her that she hadn't changed much in the twenty years since we left her, and she didn't know whether to believe them or not- after all, how are we supposed to be accurate judges of our own appearances? Shaking her head at herself in amused disapproval, she moved her mind on to more important things.

As she did every morning, she paused as her bedroom door before entering the main room of her apartments. She placed a hand on the door handle, closed her eyes and waited. She knew if she waited long enough, that what she needed would come. It always did- he always did.

_-I'm still here. Keep going. Keep fighting. Don't be afraid, you've got this. Whatever happens- I'm still here._

That voice- that voice that was sometimes the only thing that could remind her of who she truly was, banishing the judgements and fears that other people's opinions had placed her on her the previous day. The voice that reminded of where she had come from and of where she wanted to go. A voice that filled her with strength, with faith, with comfort. It never failed to make her smile and fill her with the confidence that she needed to face yet another day without the bodily presence of its owner.

With the slightest roll of her shoulders, she opened her bedroom door to the familiar sight of her guestroom. Her servant, who really had been nothing less than a miracle for over a decade now, had left the customary collection of items on the low table in the centre of the room- a pot filled with steaming raka, an empty cup beside it, and a collection of messages fanned neatly in front of these. Since the attempted Ichani Invasion, note writing had once again become necessary, as mental communication was now deemed not safe for anything but the most bland of messages.

_Perhaps, if you had listened to the advice you were given, you wouldn't have had to learn that lesson with such a high price, _Sonea couldn't help but think, remembering the attack on the magicians at the Sachakan border. But she bounced herself off those thoughts quickly. She was done with recriminations.

She reached for the drink first, before absently rifling through the notes. Recognising all the handwriting on all of them, she deemed none of them to be important enough to need an immediate response from her. So, she left them, and instead moved to the window. She pushed back the blind and sipped her drink as she looked out over the Guild, simply letting herself soak in the new day. Something she had forced herself to do was slow her life down- not try to do too many things at once, not try to be in all places at one time. Sometimes, when time allowed, she simply let herself…be. And for now, she simply wanted to look at the place she called home.

The Guild hadn't changed much in appearance since the Invasion, which was something of a miracle, really, if you think about it. But under the surface, where it really counts, it had almost changed beyond recognition. If I was to begin with the obvious, I would say that black magic was no longer a capital offence- though, of course, it was fiercely controlled- something Sonea knew all too well. Second, novices now came from both the noblest and humblest of families, creating a great melting pot of ideas, values and experiences. Overall, one could see that the Guild had moved forward in its thinking- it as more flexible, empathetic and, if not liberal, at least a little less conservative.

All these changes had come too late for her, however, Sonea mused as she watched the earliest of risers hurriedly going about their business outside. Though all aspects of her were now considered acceptable and within the Guild's laws (well, their legal ones at least, if not their social ones), she couldn't live in the Guild with the ease that, say, her counterpart could. But Sonea didn't let herself dwell on such musings or feel any regret or consternation at her lot in life. As I say, she was done with recriminations. She had allowed her mind to soften in this way for three main reasons.

The first- she knew she was lucky to be alive and to have everything that was currently in front of her. She knew a very great man had laid down everything he had for her to be able to live like this, so she owed him, at the very least, to try and live a life that was worthy of that great sacrifice.

The second, she knew that on some level, she deserved the slight discomforts that she lived with. Because, let's face it, she _did _break the law. She _did_ defy a divinely chosen King. She _did_ fall in love with the wrong man. She was learning what I have told you many times before- nothing in life is ever free.

And finally, she knew she wouldn't change a single thing if it meant that the current two great loves of her life hadn't landed in her lap. We'll come back to these in a little while.

Sonea sighed and wondered why today of all days, the past was having such an effect on her. It wasn't an anniversary of anything important, and she wasn't in a particularly stressful period of her life- from experience, she knew it was at those times that she found it hardest to cope with knowing there were so many things in her life she _would_ change, if someone would let her… But then she supposed the mind is not a constant thing, it can be affected by the smallest event or lightest gust of wind. If we want to be truly happy, all we can do is try and accept where and who we are, right in the here and the now, no matter how comfortable that feels.

Glancing at the time piece Rothen had given her some years ago now, she was pleased to see it was almost time for her to leave- she didn't want to have to sit around with such thoughts. She had found over the years it was easier to handle sadness or worry or indeed any discomfort of the mind if one is able to get up and _do _something. She quickly finished her drink grabbed her bag and headed for the front door of her rooms. She paused again, but this time, it was simply to take in a deep breath.

_Here we go again._

Walking out into the corridor, she saw numerous heads turn as the movement of the door was caught in the corner of their eyes. Most glanced away quickly- a little too quickly, as far as she was concerned. A couple of magicians smiled at her politely, and she nodded in reply as she quickly headed for the stairs down to the ground floor. And of course, as usual, a few stared at her, openly hostile looks in their eyes.

She always wanted to stop and ask such people: _pray, tell me, what is it about me that you despise the most? Is it the fact that I am from the slums that disgusts you? Or that I broke the law? Or that I cure poor people who can't pay me for a living? Or that I had a child out of wedlock? Perhaps it's a collection, if not all of them- you tell me. _But she never did demands answers from them, of course. She had tried to remember the lesson Rothen had taught her, and, of course, in time, she had passed on herself. _The people that matter don't mind, and the people that mind don't matter. _Easier said than done, of course. And besides, there was no power on earth that could stop her loving the things she loved. And so we come back to it, as Sonea makes her way to the front of the University, where a carriage would be waiting to take her to the Northside Hospice.

It had become the first of those current great loves of her life, had the hospices. By putting her magic to good use and doing what she had always set out to do by joining the Guild, returning to the people she still considered herself one of and helping them, it had managed to keep her occupied when she needed distraction the most, had assuaged her of the guilt she felt for taking human life (even if there was just cause for her for doing so. In short, it made her life feel like it had meaning again.

Despite those sullen looks she had just witnessed, Sonea made a point of reminding herself, as the carriage bounced through the cobbled city streets, out of the city and into the slums, that most people had nothing but full of praise for her whenever the hospices were mentioned in her hearing. Sonea always felt the need to keep her responses mild and humble in such situations- because she knew, deep down, even though she had had to pour all of the little energy she had had at a particular time to get the project off the ground, it saved her as much as she created it. The Northside Hospice, as it was now known, had kept her going, had given her purpose when she hadn't been able to find one.

Until purpose had, quite literally, been pulled from her.

Stepping out of the carriage at the side entrance to the hospice, she made a point of slipping very quickly out of the carriage, offering the driver a word of thanks as softly as she could. Her reason was purely practical- even now, twenty years after her name had become famous, the people of Imardin stilled seemed fascinated by her. She had hoped, in time, that they would see that she was just an ordinary woman- or as ordinary as she could be to them. She hoped they saw the hard working, caring Healer she always tried to be, not the story, the myth. The living, breathing legend.

_Oh no, not again…_

"Good morning, Sonea!" The voice distracted her at just the right moment. As she had come through the door, she was created by a woman sorting medical equipment into boxes, ready for collection by the Healers coming on shift.

Sonea had no idea how Ollia was always so cheerful, so full of life and brimming with energy. The exuberance the woman brought to her work couldn't help but make the people around her smile, and often be caught up in her relentless optimism. And she was one of the only people who seemed to have the courage to simply call Sonea by her name, which had asked everyone at the hospices to do. She might not be a Healer, but this place wouldn't have survived without her. Sonea had no idea why she came, or why she stayed, and was too afraid to ask, in case Ollia herself had never considered the question carefully and packed her bags upon its contemplation.

"Good morning Ollia," she replied. "How is our day shaping up?"

"Busy, I am afraid- I counted twenty at the doors already." Ollia looked at her sympathetically, then clucked her tongue. "But then again, why else are we here?"

Sonea gave her a lopsided smile. "Not to be run into the ground from exhaustion, I hope!"

Ollia laughed. "As if they could ever do that to you, oh mighty one! And even if they looked like they were going to, I would take care of them myself."

Sonea couldn't help but chuckle at the words. "And I love you for it, as you well know. Where are you putting me?"

Ollia handed her one of the filled medical boxes. "In clinic room three- it's just been cleaned. I will try and send the interesting looking ones your way."

"I'll hold you to that," Sonea winked at her, put the box under her arm, adjusted her bag on her bag and headed for the clinic room Ollia had mentioned.

"Oh, I forgot to ask—" Ollia's voice turned her back. "How is that son of yours? I hope he's been behaving himself since…well you know!"

"Oh don't worry, Ollia, he seems to have perked up and settled down since…you know. But I will sure to call upon you if I have any further trouble, you always had such a way with him."

With a final smile, Sonea turned away and headed to the clinic room.

Oh, did you think I had forgotten to mention a certain someone? The second current great love of her life?

Lorkin.

Where to begin?

Lorkin, was, without a shadow a doubt, the reason that Sonea still felt that she was still herself, even after all the years and all the events of her life. She hadn't wanted him to grow up with a parent who was so wrapped up in the memories of the past and the concerns of the future that she forgot the things that really mattered in life. And as he grew, she was glad she did so, because she could see traits of herself within him. Her tenacity, her sense of duty, but also her stubbornness and pride, they were all growing within him like fresh stems growing from a bulb.

As with all things in life, it hadn't been completely plain sailing. To begin with, the Delvons. Oh, how they hated her. When they had first been told about the pregnancy, they had refused to believe it, saying that the young woman must be taking advantage of a situation to twist it to her advantage. Then, when the child was born and there was no way they could deny the boy's similarity to their own beloved son, they had said they wanted to raise him their own, with all the wealth and power that would bring. But they would also raise him as Akkarin's heir, to be the great overlord, the one to carry on their legacy they had always dreamed about. But he was to leave his mother's care, and was to have minimal contact with her at all. Oh, and absolutely no talk of joining the Guild this time. That was the pivotal mistake they had made with the last son of Delvon.

It will come as no surprise to you to hear that Sonea point-blank refused to honour any of their wishes. She didn't want to cut her son off from half his family, particularly seeing as she had precious few to offer him, but she also knew she wasn't willing to get involved in the politics the Houses seemed to enjoy partaking in. She also knew, if Akkarin was here to offer his opinion, he would want his son, if possible, to join the Guild. He gave up all his family ties in everything but name when he became High Lord- which, to her, suggested he placed the Guild in higher esteem than them.

When Lorkin turned ten, no one was at all surprised when the magical abilities he displayed were impressive. They weren't as powerful as his father's, or as peculiar as his mother's, but he would be a great magician, that was clear.

And now, as Sonea unpacked the box and went to fetch her first patient of the day, she knew that now at twenty, Lorkin, had indeed become that great magician. He had his moments, and, as Ollia had alluded to, had indeed had driven her to quite the distraction over the past year or so, but she had no doubt that not only could be a great magician, but he could also be a great man.

And so, with good days and bad, with the rough and smooth, the kind and ugly, life… it went on. Because it had too.

**Hey everyone! Now I know a lot of y'all didn't like the second trilogy, and I get that, really. But this fic is much more about exploring the characters and themes the trilogy brings up rather than leaning into the plot. I also will be changing two basic parts of the plot because I HATE them, but it won't have a major impact on the overall story line. Hopefully that will help you guys like it a bit better (insert winky face!) Love to you all! Cece xox**


	2. Nothing

Chapter Two: Nothing

"_Somehow, everything I own smells of you._

_And for the tiniest of moments… it's all not true."_

Tayend of Tremmelin couldn't deny the fact that he was a little bit drunk. He didn't want to deny it, actually. Why should he? There was no shame in it anymore. Everyone knew he liked a drink. And besides, he had nowhere to go, nowhere to be. No _one_ to be, really, when he let himself dive deep enough into his soul to think about where he was in his life right now. He _had _to get a little drunk in order to survive these days, so ill and bleak they were, and with no end in sight. But he _had_ promised his beloved that he would try to cut down- _we're not the young men who can bounce back in a heartbeat_, Dannyl had said. _Our days of long nights and endless parties can finally be behind us. Now it can just be the two of us until we are old and grey- well, older and greyer. _

But what Dannyl had _never _understood is that Tayend had truly _enjoyed_ those long nights and endless parties. When they had first met, they had bonded over their mutual distaste of Elyne society, that was very true. But then, when they had first gone travelling together, he had finally been able to free himself from the constraints of the Elyne court, Tayend found a joy in spending time with others had had never known existed. He found that to be particularly true here in Kyralia, where his conversational skills and good humour impressed the naturally stern populace. Whilst Dannyl had gone to such events out to of a sense of obligation, sometimes out of obligation to powers higher than himself and always out of loyalty to his beloved, Tayend had never needed such feelings to have a good time. And so the wine had flowed, and Tayend got more and more confident, but Dannyl… didn't.

Despite the convergence in their experience, Tayend did understand. Dannyl had never learnt to trust people. He never knew how much or how little to say, afraid that whatever was said may be used against him later. Tayend was sympathetic, he had experienced similar trials himself, but the Elyne court with its famously more relaxed style than its Kyralian equivalent, had allowed him to accept that this was something he could never change about himself, and he must learn to live with (in fact, he went one step further, and enjoyed being who he was.) But Dannyl had been told what he was was _wrong _and _distorted _and _what would your parents think? _And so he had extracted himself from society as much as he could, for nigh on twenty-five. However, Tayend had started to suspect that as the years passed, Dannyl almost seemed to enjoy the reputation he was gaining as a reclusive historian, and as such made no attempts to be a supportive partner, as Tayend had tried to be. The ancient Gods of the Elynes surely must know how hard he had tried…

As the carriage swayed to halt and Tayend found himself swaying in a similar motion up the front steps of their house, it took him a moment to remember where he had put his key. He patted numerous pockets until finally finding it in the very last one he checked- the smallest one on the inside of his coat. He was glad Dannyl wasn't there to witness this- he would have rolled his eyes with feeling. And then Tayend would have made some sharp remark about how _not everyone is as blessed to have the gifts you have, my love, _and Dannyl would have rolled his eyes again. That's what happens when you're with someone for so long- you don't ven need them to be there to have a conversation with them. Tayend fumbled around with the key for a while with fingers that all felt like thumbs as he found the dexterity to unlock the door and step inside the house.

He and Dannyl had kept a very informal house ever since they had, with not a little trepidation, moved permanently to Imardin some fifteen years ago now. Even though neither of them were used to it, they had decided it was probably for the best to keep their household small- with fewer servants coming and going, there would be fewer rumours to be quashed. They had regular kitchen staff, someone who came in to do cleaning once a week, and they hired servants for when they held parties, which was precious seldom these days- but apart from that, Dannyl and Tayend had learn to shift for themselves. So when they came home, instead of being created by a butler, they were greeted by each other. And for many years, such an arrangement had suited them very well- after all, it is always better to be greeted by a friendly face rather than a stern bow. But that was in the good old days. Right now, Tayend stood in his hallway alone.

It had only been five seconds, and he already needed another drink, because even this buzz wasn't enough to break the suffocating tension that hung in the air like smoke.

As he made his way down the corridor to the dining room, where their superior collection of drinks was kept in an impressive cabinet, Tayend noticed the familiar glow of a globe light coming from within. He stopped, ran both his hands through his hair and sighed. Was getting the drink worth it? But then again, they were going to have to communicate to each other at least once this evening. Starting a pattern of not entering rooms where the other one was the occupant was probably an even worse road to go down than the one they were currently travelling upon.

And besides, surely they weren't passed the ability to say a simple "hello", were they?

Tayend took a deep breath and stepped into the room. It was a room that had seen much activity and joy in its time. Parties that had stretched into the small hours, drinking games that had probably gone one sip too far, and endless amounts of gossip and raucous laughter. But today, all was quiet and still. Because of this, Tayend's eyes were immediately dragged to the figure already present. Dannyl was sitting at the dining table, which had been set for two. A cluster of covered dishes were set between the two chairs. Water, in an ornate pitcher, was the only form of drink on the table. Clearly a message was being set with that.

Dannyl didn't look up at first. He sat with one hand thrown out across the back of the empty chair, the other tapping softly on the deep oak of the table. Then, eventually, as if waking from sleep, he looked up and directly at Tayend. He looked tired, as if he had been walking all day instead of reading through musty old scrolls.

"Where have you been?" He asked, as if he didn't really care about the answer. A

So they were beyond a simple "hello" then, how disappointing.

Tayend shrugged non-committedly. Strangely, he didn't feel a particularly strong urge to answer what was clearly meant to be a hostile question. Dannyl seemed to hold back his irritation at not being answer, except for his fingers on the table, which flexed involuntarily. The now complete silence in the room was deafening in its awkwardness, but Dannyl, with all the poise and diplomacy he had learnt being a Guild Ambassador, spoke smoothly into it, in tones that suggested he was forcing himself to be polite. "We agreed, First Day night we should make an effort to spend together- we spend so much time apart these days."

Tayend held back what would have been a very hollow laugh. _Oh, and why do think that is?_

But despite his now bad mood and bruised feelings, he realised then he was not in the mood for an argument. He knew Dannyl could always but his case across better than him in a war of words, even when both of them were sober. And he really didn't want to put his verbal duelling abilities to the test when he had struggled so much with a simple key.

As he made to move across the room, Tayend felt another wave of dizziness wash over him. He felt himself sway and grabbed the nearest chair for balance. Dannyl narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. He rose from the table and came towards him, an angry tempo in his gait. As he approached, he sniffed experimentally.

"You've been out drinking again, haven't you?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Why am I not surprised? And you were with those ridiculous friends of yours, no doubt."

_You think them ridiculous- they think you smug and self-important. _

But again, Tayend simply allowed himself a shrug, then continued on his path to the drinks cabinet.

Dannyl sighed in an exasperated tone behind him. His enforced good humour had evaporated instantly under the weight of everything that stood between them. "Oh, for pity's sake, Tayend, don't drink anymore! Don't you think you've made enough of a spectacle of yourself for one afternoon? Honestly, it's not even dusk and you smell like a bolhouse."

Tayend turned fixed Dannyl with a piercing stare, and held it as he raised the decanter, unstopped it and poured himself a glass. He let one eyebrow raise and the slightest of smile curl one side of his mouth and he raised the glass to it. It was true that Dannyl might well be better with words, but it was also true that Tayend was far better at actions.

And which, do they tell us, speaks louder?

Dannyl looked away and took several deep breaths. When it looked like no more was going to be communicated between them, Tayend decided he'd _really _had enough, and headed for the door.

"So that's it, then? You're just going to give me the silent treatment like a child, then leave?" Dannyl spat into the dreadful silence that had fallen between them. Even he, with his years of experience of negotiating his way through difficult conversations on the Guild's behalf, couldn't make this silence alright again. And then, unexpectedly for both of them, he rushed at Tayend, blocking his exit from the room. He took Tayend by the shoulders and shook him, harder than was necessary to get his point across. "What _is_ the matter with you, Tayend? What has happened to us that you can't even talk to me anymore? What _is it?"_

Tayend looked at his lover, and despite himself, felt his heart twist at the pain in Dannyl's eyes.

Because, oh, he still heartedly and consciously, undeniably and unchangeably, _loved_ this man.

He loved the way he would always read out parts of his books that he thought Tayend would be interested in. He loved the way he couldn't quite get the hair on the right side of his neck to stay down neatly. He loved his funny Kyralian accent- particularly when he was cross or being serious- had since the moment they met. Really, there was nothing Tayend _didn't _love about this man. Nothing…

But no- despite the fierce flame that still burnt in his heart for this man, Tayend wasn't going to allow Dannyl to blame the sole charge of this pitiful argument, or indeed the pitiful state of their relationship, at his door. Love has to work both ways, after all, or is it even love?

"Nothing," he said softly, with emphasis. Because it was true.

Nothing had exactly gone terribly wrong- but nothing had gone wonderfully right, for years now.

Nothing _changed_…but then again, _nothing_ changed.

Nothing was what they had in common these days. Nothing to fight for, nothing for forgive for.

In essence, their relationship was a deep, wide and dark ocean filled with absolutely nothing. Not even the gentle glow from Dannyl's globe light that hung between them could fill such a dark space.

When the silence got to him, Dannyl's shoulders dropped and his expression became one of solemn resignation. He side-stepped to allow Tayend to leave the room, which he did so with a sweep, allowing his somewhat flamboyant coat to billow out behind him slightly. Even after all these years, he could never resist a touch of the dramatic.

"You know you're killing us, don't you, Tayend?," Dannyl said softly towards Tayend's departing back. Tayend stopped and turned slightly to look at Dannyl out of the corner of his eye. The great and powerful magician Tayend had once been so in awe of now looked downcast and empty. His fists were clenched at his sides, and he almost seemed lost in the voluminous material of his robes.

But Tayend once again said nothing, and made his way up the staircase, down the corridor to his lonely bed. But just because he said nothing didn't mean he didn't have an answer.

_No, my love, _we _are killing us._

**Thank you to the people who have already reviewed and signed up to receive updates on this fic, and welcome! As I said in my description, this will (in all likelihood) be my very last fic for this universe. I never dreamt that I would ever end up writing as much as I have done- and it's all down to the support of the people who read, review, and follow/favourite. You're precious. As ever, all my love, Cece xox**


	3. Climbing

Chapter Three: Climbing

"_Gleaming in the moonlight,_

_Cool and clean and all I've ever known,_

_All I've ever wanted…"_

Every other summer or so, Administrator Osen would arrange for all of the Guild buildings to be cleaned and for small repairs to be completed. Great teams of cleaners and builders would file in and, brick by brick, window by window, the buildings would suddenly begin to shine with an almost ethereal light. In a matter of weeks, the Guild, and everyone in it by some strange design, felt clean again, which was quite an impressive feat, if you think about it. Some magicians asked behind their hands why this wasn't done simply using magic (it could be a useful exercise for the final year novices), but Osen believed that the "human touch" made all the difference. And besides, he said, it did the Guild absolutely no bad public relations to be seen to be supporting local services.

Lorkin really couldn't get himself at all exercised by either side of this debate that was surprisingly boisterous, for something that to him felt so trivial- it was just cleaning after all, and what twenty year old spends more than five seconds a day thinking about cleaning? Still, as he walked back through the Guild gardens from an evening soiree, even as he was lost deep in thoughts of other lands, he did take a moment appreciate the way the Guild seemed to gleam in the dusky light of the long summer evening. Osen had somehow worked out that the Guild worked at its best when it looked its best.

Hearing the sound of loud voices in the distance, Lorkin turned toward the sound. He chuckled as he watched a group of his friends stagger off together, drunkenly singing some song of their own devising. He had been invited to join them as they returned to one of their rooms to carry on the night's entertainment, and on another night he may well have taken them up on their offer, but tonight, Lorkin wanted some time and space to be alone and to think. He needed to use what his mother so endearingly called his "thinking face." To that end, he walked in the direction of the great university building, considering its lofty state.

Though he had asked more than once, Lorkin had never been given official access to the University roof. Under Osen's administration, access to the tallest building in the Guild had become much more limited and strictly for the use of those magicians needing the roof for magical reasons. According to Rothen, everyone who had been granted access had had to access to it had had to apply for it again some eighteen years ago, and only a handful of new permissions had been given access since then.

But Lorkin, to no one's great surprise, had never been very good at following official rules- especially ones that he felt didn't appear to have any good reason for their existence. I mean, making sure that the roof didn't have too many occupants at one time was sensible, and not letting novices up their for safety reasons made sense, but why shouldn't he, a generally decent, loyal member of the Guild not granted access to the place he had called home his entire life? He wasn't willing to allow it. He checked that he was definitely alone and, remembering the advice he had been given, moved to the side of the building that as in deepest shadow, lifted a boot onto a brick that stuck out from the others slightly and began to climb.

Just before joining the university, Lorkin had complained about the lack of access to his mother, which happened (somewhat serendipitously, as it turned out) to be at a time when she was being visited by her oldest friend, Cery (not that he was supposed to do that- Lorkin was always under strict instructions not to tell a soul he had been there). Sonea had simply shrugged at his complaint and said, "and what do you expect me to do about it, darling? It's not like I can persuade the Administrator of anything." But Cery had looked thoughtful. Later, when his mother had left for the night shift, Cery had hung back, and gave Lorkin that same thoughtful look. "I think I can solve your problem, kid," he had said. "Follow me, and absolutely no telling your mother, or we'll both get it in the neck." And so, slowly and with patience, Cery had taught Lorkin to climb. Whilst he would never be brilliant, but he knew enough to get by, Cery said with a grin. "Always remember the first rule- whatever you do, don't get caught."

You might wonder why Lorkin, now he was a graduated magician, didn't levitate- he had certainly learnt the skill easily enough. But Lorkin had realised pretty quickly, once he had learnt the skill and was eager to try it out, that by climbing, though it took much more time and more strength, he was far less likely to get caught. Climbing allowed him to keep to the shadows, as Cery had instructed him to do. And besides- no one in the Guild would be looking for someone climbing, but they might keep a look out for those with the ability to levitate…

After a long and strenuous ten minutes or so, Lorkin was finally able to grab the top edge of the brick and peer over the edge- no one else was there, very luckily for an evening like this. More than once he had reached the top only to spy on a visitor, and had to make the very careful journey back down the route he had come. Today, he was able to haul himself over onto the roof. He rose slowly, heart still racing and panting more than a respectable magician every should. He was out of practice, really- he hadn't attempted such a climb in some months, not since the night before his graduation, but he felt a strange pull to come here tonight. I mean, the view was spectacular, after all.

Far, far away in the distance, one could just make out a distant line of mountains, the Steel Belt Ranges. They were the mountains that separated Kyralia from its ancient foe, Sachaka. As a novice, Lorkin had been told in one of his History classes that there was no current threat from Sachaka. The Ichani had been all but destroyed during the invasion- the few that remained wanted nothing to do with each other, now that there were no Dakovas or Karikos to bring them together. And now that the Guild sent Ambassadors to Arvice, every political move and whispered plot that went on in the King's court was known about. But despite all these improvements, Lorkin wasn't convinced by his teacher. So, later that day, he went to ask the one person he knew could give an honest answer.

"No, there is no current threat," his mother had said soothingly, not even looking up from the note she was writing. "And even if there is one, we're far better prepared than we used to be. Besides, it's not for you to worry about things like that, anyway."

Lorkin had shifted in his chair uncomfortably- he had wondered if he was going too far, but hadn't been able to stop himself. "But…what if they _do_ come back? The Ichani originally invaded because they wanted revenge- revenge for the War, on father, so… what if they decide at some point they want revenge on the Guild- on you?"

Sonea had sighed and put down her pen and looked at him, a soft but determined expression in her dark eyes. "Then they will find I am even harder to kill than last time we met, because my personal stakes are even higher. And I would do absolutely everything I did before all over again, without a second thought, and with the help from the Guild we didn't have last time, that would be the end of that. Now enough of such dark musings, tell me something more positive you learnt today."

Lorkin had tried to let such words comfort him, but for some reason his mother's gentle tones didn't have the same power over him anymore as they had when he was just a little boy. Maybe it was because he was growing up- he was sixteen when this conversation happened, after all, and her natural motherly hold over his emotions was losing its grip. Or maybe it was because he was, without any possibility of knowing it, turning more and more into his father with every passing day. He was, slowly but surely, becoming the kind of young man who _needed _to see things to believe them, rather than just trust they were true because that was what he had been told by someone older.

Now, as Lorkin gazed out at those mountains, he understood the pull that Akkarin must have felt to get away and find what was behind them. Not only did he feel that strange, unbidden pull to find out more about what was going on in the Sachakan Wastes for himself, a sensation that had only built since that history lesson over three years ago, but he was, to his annoyance, beginning to get bored. So incredibly, unbelievably, mind-numbingly bored. Of course, he wasn't the only magician of his age and position in life to experience such a sensation- Director Jerrick had told all of his class that they may well have a sense of anti-climax after graduation, but soon enough, new positions and opportunities would open up for them.

But time continued to pass, months drifted away, and as his friends one by one started to find those positions Jerrick had alluded to, Lorkin felt left behind and left with the sensation that there _had _to be more than being a magician than what he was currently experiencing. Surely, _surely. _

Oh, but to go somewhere else! Lorkin's life had been surrounded by these graceful, gleaming but imprisoning Guild walls. For a long time, before joining the university, he had though that this world was all he would ever want. But right now, all he wanted was to be anywhere else _but _here. And maybe, just maybe, just a possibility had fallen into his lap…

But Lorkin wasn't just a headstrong, foolish young man. He was also cautious. He had also been brought up to believe that his father's story was not _just_ a heroic ballad, but also a cautionary tale- it was the story of what happened when one overstepped one's station, and took on more than you could handle. Even so, Lorkin understood. He understood completely.

Thoughts of the father he never met naturally pulled Lorkin's eyes to the west of the city, where he knew that if the quality of the light and his eyes were better, he would be able to make out a tall, imposing statue, standing proudly in the middle of the West Square. His mother had refused to take him when it was finally finished- there was no point, she said, as the stupid thing looked nothing like the man it was supposed to represent. But then again, perhaps she had had other reasons too. It was erected to commemorate the five year anniversary, after all. So Rothen had taken him, saying to Sonea that it couldn't do any harm, surely? She had rolled her eyes at him and sighed in that exasperated way of hers when she gave in. "Fine, as long as you're the one who deals with all the questions it is naturally going to bring up."

Staring at the chiselled, both literally and in its complexion, face of the statue that was supposed to represent his father, Lorkin felt very little- or at least, he remembered feeling very little. But that probably isn't surprising. If you think about it, what was he _supposed_ to feel? How do you mourn someone you never loved? How do you miss someone you never met? How do you forgive someone for leaving you alone when you know they'll never come home to you?

For the most part, Lorkin hadn't felt the absence of his father too keenly as a child- like I say, it was difficult to be bereaved of something you never had. But then, as he had grown up, joined the university, and then graduated, he started to feel the absence of…something inside him. It felt like hearing a choir singing, but feeling it was missing an important voice from its harmonies- or looking at a painting there was an entire colour that had left out, leaving it incomplete. Sonea and Rothen had helped as much as they could with those feelings. They told him that his father loved his people so much, Lorkin included in that number, that he was willing to die for them- for him, even if Akkarin hadn't known of his existence. Sonea had always frowned as she said that last past and looked away, as if she wasn't sure it was completely true, but never said anything more on the subject.

But, despite all the conversations he was encouraged to make and questions he was encouraged to ask, there was only so much that could be said and done to help him. After all, his mother had, to this very evening, her own grief to deal with, and, as loving and grandfatherly as he was, Rothen simply couldn't understand what this feeling was like.

This desperate need to know, but was completely unsure as to what it was that needed knowing.

This desperate urge to cry, all the time, but not being sure exactly what he was crying for.

This desperate fear that not only was he not understood, but that also the only person who could possibly understand him had died before he was even known about.

For all his friends and for all the warmth of his childhood that he still felt protecting him, Lorkin felt intolerably lonely with such a sensation.

His mother had always said to him there was more to life than the Guild, than magic, than having a lot of money and being a member of a House. She had also told him that he was more than who is parents were. "You are quite capable of going on and having a wonderfully happy and fulfilling life without having to try and somehow…replicate us. In fact, I would strongly urge you to live in a way that is the complete opposite of our lives- live quietly, peacefully- joyfully, if at all possible."

But Lorkin wanted more. He wanted more than quiet peace. He wasn't sure exactly what "more" meant, he just knew he wanted it more than he could possibly say. Before the other day, when he had happened to stumble across Dannyl making plans to bid for the Ambassadorship in Arvice, he had felt guilty for even having such thoughts. But after that conversation, with all the possibilities and opportunities and _potential _it brought up_, _Lorkin didn't even have it in him to feel guilty about wanting something bigger anymore.

He had come up here with the idea of thinking through the decision as to whether he, too, would put his name forward. But if he was honest with himself, he had known even before he had started climbing that he had already made up his mind on that score- he had no other choice. He had to apply, to find the peace in his mind his mother had thought he would only find whilst safely confined behind the Guild's walls…

No, that wasn't why he was here. The only thing that was left to do before he made his decision official was to find the courage to do it from somewhere. He was going to need a lot, because he needed it on two counts.

The first: The courage to apply to go to the land where his father's fate was sealed.

The second: The courage to confess such a plan to his ever-loving, ever-understanding, but also ever-fearful mother.

**You guys were ever so kind about chapter two! Many thanks to you all. It felt like something everyone can relate to, the "death" of a relationship of whatever nature, so I really wanted to write it. I also plan on doing more chapters with that "lens"- this is going to way more character-study-ish than my last fic, which was obviously more plot based. I know that's not to everyone's taste, but I hope you enjoy it. Love, Cece.**


	4. Vergangenheit

Chapter Four: Vergangenheit

"_All those days watching from the shadows,__  
__All those years outside looking in,__  
__All that time never even knowing,__  
__Just how blind I'd been…"_

Forgiving people is actually relatively easy, once you allow yourself the peace of mind to do it. A common misconception about forgiveness is that, through doing so, one is saying "I accept what it was that you did to me and no longer mind. I give you my permission to do it again." This is incorrect, a complete misunderstanding of the word. Forgiveness is not the acceptance of the act, but the choosing to believe that some things are more important than holding a grudge. It's choosing to say, "I don't accept what you did, but I once again accept you." Once you understand that, forgiveness becomes a choice, not a chore. It becomes a way of not just healing a bond, but healing yourself too.

But forgiving yourself? That's an awful lot harder. Because it requires the same thing- it requires you to acknowledge and accept the darkest, worst part of ourselves. It forces you to accept that there are things about ourselves which we can never change or take back, and we have to live with that knowledge with as much peace as possible. And, depending on the severity of our crimes, this is something that can take a long, long time to achieve.

Regin, over the course of his adolescence and early adulthood, had spent many an uncomfortable night trying to forgive himself for the person he had been before. He had been blind and stupid, misinformed by choice and unkind by design. He knew he could never take back the things he had done, but he could try to learn from them, which was the best way to find self-forgiveness that he could think of. He had, over the past twenty years, made a conscious effort to be more open-minded and conscientious in his thinking. He had irritated his wife and his family on more than one occasion for calling out their bias against people who weren't like them- of different races, religions, classes, but somehow, the words always felt slightly hollow, as if they didn't quite ring true, and because of that was still unable to forgive himself for the follies of his youth. Perhaps if actually _did _something to help such people, he may find the reconciliation he needed- but his life as a Warrior Skills teacher didn't exactly given ample opportunity for that.

And besides, he was never exactly going to be called a liberal. Thinking all people should be treated with decency isn't a liberal view, it's just common sense. He was always going to come from a basic belief that everyone has a duty to try and help themselves as much as possible, and not rely on an over-arching to protect them from all the cruelties of the world- if we all needed that, where would we be? But even Regin had to admit, he was slightly embarrassed when he was approached to lead the opposition to a petition about to be put to the Guild about stopping the punishment of magicians who have links to people connected with criminal activity. They must think he an awful prig to approach him with such a request- but he had agreed, seeing as no one else wanted to take it on, and he as he had strong feelings against such a petition, he didn't want it to be passed because of poor opposition. He had been irritated when the magicians who had asked him then told everyone he had "offered" to lead them- unless being dragged by your hair is now the same as offering…

But when he had realised several days into the plan for their campaign that he was going to have to petition not only the Guild in its entirety, but also the Higher Magicians individually to his cause, his heart had skipped a beat when he realised who that number obviously included.

The others had told him to leave Sonea to her own devices. _It's not like she's going to change her mind on a topic like this, and_ you _particularly will probably make her even more likely to vote in the opposite direction than not, _they had said with a firmness that suggested they had prepared themselves for this possibility. _No, let her be, Regin. Don't antagonise someone who could make life very difficult for us if she so chose. _

But Regin had fundamentally disagreed with them, and so did what he always did very well- thanked his advisers politely, but chose to completely ignore them. It was _because _of his history with Sonea that he firstly knew her better than they did, and secondly he knew what Sonea had always wanted, and probably still did, was to be treated like everyone else in the Guild. She always seemed so uncomfortable with being singled out and treated differently. And she wouldn't make life difficult for them simply for the sake it- she didn't have enough time to do that, for one thing. He owed it to her to give to have the same opportunity as the other Higher Magicians to hear his arguments, to question and critique them and make a sound, informed decision.

He had told the other oppositioners as much, and stoically refused to change his mind when they argued with him, until they relented. Now, a few days later, had been his first opportunity to put his thoughts into action.

As he reached Sonea's door, he paused and took a deep breath. This was not going to be fun. He rolled his shoulders back and knocked with more confidence than he felt. To his surprise, it wasn't magic that opened the door a few seconds later but the magician herself.

Sonea blinked at him in surprise, a frown quickly crossing her face, but then was soon replaced with a far more neutral expression. Regin inclined his head to her. "Black Magician Sonea," he said solemnly.

"Lord Regin—" she said slowly, inclining her head to him in return. "Forgive me, I don't recall us arranging a meeting," she looked away and seemed to be thinking quickly, wondering whether she had forgotten to schedule a meeting with her old nemesis in her diary.

"We didn't, and I am sorry for springing myself upon you. But I wanted to run some thoughts by you regarding the bill hearing that's coming up. I hoped you would be able to spare me a few minutes of your time- I know you're kept very busy."

She arched an eyebrow at him, looking genuinely surprised. "_You_ wished to discuss this particular bill…with _me_?" The emphasis she placed on her words did not escape his notice, but Regin told himself he had earnt himself such incredulity.

"Yes- if that would be acceptable?" He posed it as a question, giving her the option to back out if she wanted to.

_Maybe I didn't think this through properly… _

Sonea may have changed in many ways since their fiery encounters in the University, but in one essential way she was exactly she was- she never backed down from a fight. "Of course- but I only have twenty minutes or so," she said, almost pleasantly. "I am expecting my son for dinner- though he will never be known for his punctuality." She smiled, more to herself than him, and opened the door more fully and gestured for him to pass over the threshold.

"My daughters are the same," he said. "Getting them both to sit down for a meal at the same time and on time was always a task for a lesser God."

"Youth is wasted on the young, eh?" She said as she neatly lowered herself into a chair, and gestured to the one opposite for him to sit in. He watched as she tucked her feet beneath the chair in a graceful slant, wrapped her hands around each other and placed them in her lap, then looked up at him and smiled. "So, how can I help you, Lord Regin?"

If Regin had known her better, or presumed to know her better at least, he may have chuckled. The way she had positioned herself, the way she had asked that question- it was obvious she had done this hundreds of times before. People must clamour for her attention all the time, so she had practised a very neutral, composed front that allowed her to cope with it all. The girl that had dealt with his brutality, and the brutality of others, was long gone, and in her place was a calm, efficient and intelligent woman. But it was time to be away with such thoughts. Regin forced his mind onto the well-rehearsed script he had carefully compiled.

"I assume you are aware I have been asked to represent those opposition the petition that is about to be put before the Guild."

"I am," she replied, nodding once. "Well, I was told you had offered to represent them, but it makes no difference."

Regin let his eyes roll slightly and heard her chuckle in response. "It makes a difference to me, I assure you, the message clearly got… mistranslated. Anyway, I wondered if I might talk you through some of the finer points- in my conversations with the other magicians, it became obvious to me that whilst the general opposing view to the petition is well understood, some of the finer details have been lost in translation, as it were."

Regin paused for breath. Sonea kept her rigid gaze straight on him, not the slightest hint of expression crossing her face as to reveal her thoughts. She really had learnt this role incredibly well. And as Regin continued to explain, she continued to listen attentively.

"The rule has clearly been unfairly applied, but the fact is, some do come from families involved in criminal activities," he finished, and placed his hands face down in his lap by way of a conclusion to his speech. "I would be interested to know your thoughts on this."

At this, Sonea finally frowned, and she leaned forward slightly in her seat. "I regularly heal people involved in criminal activities," she retorted. "And I know people in the city who earn money in…shall we say less legal ways. That does not make me a criminal. Well, that alone, at least." She adjusted her robes slightly before continuing. "Neither does a magician become a criminal because a relative happens to be one. Surely it is enough that a magician- or a novice- behaves as we wish them to. Otherwise we are holding our members accountable for the actions of others, and goodness knows where that would lead."

This wasn't a novel argument, and one that Regin had had put to him by more than one of the Higher Magicians before, so he was well versed in how to respond. "If only we could trust that they would behave as we would wish them too," he replied. "But it is true of all novices and magicians, no matter their background or fortune, that those exposed through family or friends to dishonest people or business are more likely to succumb to the temptation of criminal involvement than those who are not." He sighed, thinking about how lucky he had been not to have had any criminal connections in his youth. Whilst his treatment of Sonea had been reproachful, it hadn't been illegal. If Regin had had the misfortune of being a novice now, he knew how easy it would have been to persuade to take part in some dark activities. "I believe this rule helps them, particularly when they are unable to help themselves. It can be an excuse to back out of a situation when under pressure from others."

Sonea shook her head. "Or can drive them to rebel, when the rule is seen to be unfairly upheld," she pointed out. "Or if it is inadvertently broken then they may reason having broken one rule it will not matter so much if they break another. Then there are those who find what is most forbidden is most exciting." Regin may have imagined it, but he thought he saw her look a little more meaningfully at him then.

"For which we need the deterrent effect of the rule," he replied smoothly.

"Deterrent or, perversely, encouragement?" For the first time, she looked genuinely conflicted as she sighed and drummed her fingers on the chair's arm. "The weakness of this rule is that it is inconsistently applied- and I don't believe that can resolved."

It was Regin's turn to shake his head. "I agree that is the weakness, but not that it cannot be resolved." He sighed, and wondered how best to put this- none of the other Higher Magicians had made this point, so he wasn't sure how best to proceed. "The trouble is, things have changed. The world has changed, even since we were young. Crime has seeped up into the higher classes like damp rising through the walls. It is _they _we need the rule for, not the lower classes."

Sonea arched an eyebrow at him and gave a sardonic smile. "Surely you don't believe that the Higher Classes weren't gambling and whoring in the past? I can tell you stories that would –"

"No—" Regin interrupted with a shake of his hand. "I'm not talking about the usual mischief. This is bigger. Nastier. And far more organised."

Sonea looked as if she was going to ask him a question, but then a knock came at the door. This time, she chose to open it with magic.

A servant stood outside. She took in the scene in front of her and bowed. "Excuse me, my lady- Lord Lorkin has arrived."

"Thank you, Claria." Sonea smiled at the woman, who bowed again and shut the door behind her. Sonea returned her attention to Regin. "I'm afraid we'll have to leave it there, Lord Regin- as, by some miracle, my son is almost on time. But I shall give the matter my full consideration, rest assured on that account."

"Thank you, Black Magician Sonea- both for that and for hearing me out."

She smiled politely, and with its appearance, her expression of neutrality disappeared. She rose gracefully and went to the door, and Regin followed. As she opened the door, Regin noticed a familiar young man standing outside, facing away from them. As the sound of the door creaking further open, he turned toward them.

Regin wasn't sure if he had seen Lorkin since his Graduation ceremony a few months ago The boy- well, man now- was certainly tall, clearly a trait inherited from his father rather than his mother. But there was something else- something about his eyes, the way he looked at Regin when he spotted him, that curious, penetrating glance that was very reminiscent of his mother. He then looked to Sonea and smiled- possibly a little hesitantly, but Regin didn't know him well enough to guess.

"Hello, Mother," he said, taking a step closer and bending to kiss her on her cheek. He then straightened and bobbed his head to her slightly. Well, she was the highest ranking woman in the Guild as well as being his mother, after all.

"You're almost on time- should I check the sky for flying animals?" Sonea reached for Lorkin's arm and rubbed it affectionately.

Lorkin's smile broadened and his appeared to relax a little. Perhaps this wasn't just a dinner. Perhaps this was a dinner and a _conversation. _Regin had had more than one of those in the last few years.

Lorkin then turned to Regin and gave a polite nod, the curiosity in gaze now carefully hidden. "Lord Regin."

Regin returned the gesture. "Lord Lorkin."

Then, as ships passing in the night, the two men swapped places. Sonea smiled once more at Regin before ushering Lorkin inside and closing the door behind him.

Regin took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

_Well, that could have gone worse._

His mind wondered over a lot of things as he slowly walked away and back to entrance of the Guild, where he hoped he would find a carriage waiting to take him home. He thought about the new points Sonea had raised, and how he would have to go away and come up with better arguments to combat them. He thought about what the other opposers would say when he told them she hadn't been nearly as resistive as they would have guessed, and felt a certain smugness at that. He thought about what their chances were- at this point, it was nigh on impossible to say- this vote was going to be on a knife edge, no matter what way he went.

But mostly he just thought about her- her dark eyes and her thoughtful expression and the way she looked at her son- did Lorkin have any conception of how lucky he was to have her as his mother? Did have any idea that some fathers would give their entire family's fortune to give their children a mother with half as much compassion and intelligence and devotion? Of course he didn't, but that wasn't Lorkin's fault.

Regin ran a hand through his hair and sighed, tossing magic at the front entrance to the Magicians' Quarters in an irritable fashion. He was right when he had thought earlier that their meeting could have gone a lot worse, but for some reason that just further annoyed him. There was a part of him that had wanted her to sneer and snap at him, to treat him as he had treated her all those years ago- partly because he felt he deserved it- all meaningful forgiveness should come with penance, after all- and partly because would stop him thinking about her dark eyes and thoughtful expression and the way she looked at her son_. _

_There is nothing we hate more than what we can't have. _


	5. The Dearest and The Best

Chapter Five: The Dearest and The Best

_Oh, this son of mine I love so well, and oh, the toll it takes,__  
__I would build for him a garden and keep it clear of snakes.__  
__But the one thing he must treasure is to make his own mistakes.__  
__He is bound for lands I've travelled, I remember them so clear__  
__I could tell him what to watch for, I could warn him what to fear__  
__I could shout until I'm breathless and he'd still refuse to hear__!_

The Lonmar religion was, to the outsider, a cruel religion. It relies upon absolute obedience, humble acceptance and perfect sacrifice. Sonea couldn't quite bring herself to believe that there were still people, in these so-called modern days, that were prepared to make huge financial and indeed animal sacrifices to Gods they had never heard speak, but she told herself she wasn't in a position to judge.

She hadn't been brought up with religion, hardly any Kyralians today had been. But that meant she had to admit that she couldn't understand what it was to have faith, and therefore she couldn't truly understand what it was that the Lonmars were doing. She had had some interesting conversations with the occasional Lonmar Healer that had worked in the Hospices over the years. She remembered one telling her that their religion said that they must make such sacrifices because "we can only give we consider is dearest and what is best. That is what the Gods demand and deserve."

As Sonea came to her son's door, she was too full of anxiety and regrets to know why such thoughts were coming into her mind, but found the strength to push them aside. She knocked and opened the door slightly, but didn't enter. "Lorkin? May I come in?" she called, not wanting to be one of those parents that barge into their child's space.

"Mother, is everything alright? I wasn't expecting you until later." the familiar voice called in reply.

"Yes of course, all is well," she took his response as invitation to enter, so she did and quietly clocked the door shut behind her. "I got away earlier than expected and thought I may see you whilst I still can."

"Have you come to check I have everything I need? Don't worry, I did remember to pack more than one change of underwear."

She chuckled. "You're twenty years old- if you need your mother to check your belongings before leaving on your travels, that begs the question as to whether you should be going at all. I just wanted to talk to you, that's all."

Lorkin put his head out of the bedroom door and narrowed his eyes at her. "You haven't come to try and persuade me out of it at the eleventh hour, have you?!"

She shook her head. "Even I know a lost cause when I see one. For better or for worse, you inherited my stubbornness, I see that now."

He smirked and disappeared out of her sight again. "I thought you said I got that from my father," he called out to her.

"Perhaps you got it from both of us and are thus double the trouble. I don't believe any of your teachers would disagree with me."

Taking advantage of his being out of the room, Sonea quickly looked around the room. A single case sat by the door, looking ready to be taken. She checked to make sure he was occupied- he was. Swiftly, she clipped it open and reached into the pocket in the inside of her robes. She pulled out a small object that caught the glow of the globe light that brightened the room on this rather rainy day. She rolled the metal underneath her fingers, then held it to her lips and closed her eyes. It was going to be a great challenge- a great sacrifice- to separate herself from the ring with the red glass embedded into the gold of the band. The last person to possess it had been Akkarin, after all, but she knew it might finally be able to serve its purpose with her son.

_History really does have a way of coming around…_

As she heard Lorkin's footfall, she quickly wrapped it in between the folds of a cloak Lorkin had packed and shut the case with a soft click. Lorkin came out of his bedroom with a second case and a leather satchel under one arm. He looked around the space that already felt vacant and unwanted, then frowned.

"You don't think they'll give my rooms to someone else whilst I am away, do you?" he asked.

Sonea shrugged. "That depends on how long you are away. However, I would say given their general state, no one else would want to live in them."

He snorted. "If you think these are bad, you should see some of my friends'!"

"Step into the caves in which adolescent men dwell? No thank you. But in all seriousness- I have come with two pieces of advice." She gestured to the two chairs, pretty much the only furniture in the room that hadn't been covered in white cloth. Lorkin looked like he was going to protest, then changed his mind and sat in the seat opposite hers. She waited until he met her eyes to continue. "The first- I want you to promise me you will listen to Dannyl. He may not be my favourite person at this particular moment in time, but he is as bright as they come and knows about how to deal with foreign politicians, particularly ones who may not be right sided. Follow his lead, make yourself useful to him and remind him from time to time that if anything should happen to you, a certain part of his anatomy belongs to me."

Lorkin snorted at that last part. "Very well, I promise- and the second piece of advice?"

Sonea sighed. This one was going to be harder for him to accept. She reached out and took his hands. "The second is this- You must always remember the kind of people you will be living with. Sachakans hate Kyralians. They always have, they always will. Don't expect a friendly welcome even though you have technically been invited. Sleep with one eye open at all times- and _remember_. You may well be the next chapter in the Guild's story, but that doesn't mean you need to write a great saga."

He smiled down at her and squeezed her hands. "They mean well now."

Sonea looked at him and felt a fondness for his youthful naivety. "No, they don't, Lorkin," she said softly, then sighed and pulled her hands from his. "But no doubt you will have to learn that for yourself before you will believe it. Now, I believe it's time."

She rose as Lorkin looked at his timepiece on the wall and nodded. He too stood up, then once again looked around his rooms and, with a sigh of finality, picked up the case and satchel he had brought from his bedroom and headed for the door. Sonea went to follow him but then, to her surprise, Lorkin dropped the bag, approached her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She immediately returned the gesture, wondering at what point embracing her son had changed from holding a little boy to being held by a fully-grown man.

"I'm suddenly scared," he said quietly against her ear. She could feel his breathing change against her- what should be steady and rhythmic was now shaky and easy.

"There now, it's alright," she murmured, holding him close.

If Sonea had been a different kind of mother, she might have pounced on this sudden bout of nerves. She could have taken that very natural fear and used it to her advantage. But you can only nurse a baby bird for so long before it will hurt you with its flapping wings. She remembered what the Lonmar religion said about sacrifice. _We can only give what is dearest and what is best. _In this case, the greatest gift she could give to the Guild was to let her son go.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, but held his face in her hands. It was a little paler than normal.

"Listen to me: of course you are scared right now, that's only right and proper," she said. "And there's nothing wrong with feeling afraid. But being brave isn't feeling fear, you know. It's deciding that some things are more important. You want to explore the world, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"And you want to make a difference in the Guild?"

"Yes."

"Well then, it's time to be brave, because that is more important, wouldn't you agree?"

He nodded and smiled weakly. "Thank you."

She pushed a piece of hair out of his eyes as if he was much younger than twenty. "I'm your mother- you don't need to thank me."

He took her hands from his face and kissed them. "Even so, I need you to know- I'm not doing this to spite you, or get away from you. You do understand that, don't you?"

That was another moment Sonea could have used. She could have manipulated him, confounded him with his own doubts. But she wasn't that kind of person, she wasn't that kind of mother. "Of course I do. I remember a time when I had to do something everyone else thought was the absolute worst thing I could do, but I knew it simply had to be done. So I won't stop you following the same path."

"I will come back, I promise you that," he said. "Just like you did." She may have been wrong or emotional herself, but she thought she might have seen a shimmer in his eyes that wasn't normally there.

"And I am never so far away you can't call on me if you need me, I promise _you _that." She felt the sudden urge to weep. To sob and sob until there were no tears left. _No- not now. Not here. It would be fair. _She sighed and gave him a smile. "Enough of all this now- it's time to get you going. I'll take this," she said, grabbing the second of his bags.

They walked silently through the Magicians' Quarters and then through the rainy gardens to the front entrance to the Guild. Magicians who they passed smiled politely at Lorkin, some even wishing him luck, and bowed politely to Sonea, but none did more than that, for which Sonea was thankful. Now was not the time for an ambush. Perhaps her colleagues had finally grown enough emotional intelligence to recognise that.

Reaching the front of the University, where the great turning circle for carriages stretched out in front of them they immediately spotted Rothen and Dannyl were already there, standing by a waiting carriage, the usual decoration of the Guild symbol embossed in gold in its side.

_No Tayend, however. That's interesting. Perhaps I am not the only one mightily unimpressed by this crusade. Perhaps I should talk to him…_

The two men turned as they approached. Sonea smiled at Rothen, then turned to the man she held very little warm feeling towards. "Ambassador Dannyl- I won't lie, it feels right and proper to call you that once again," she said, raising a smile and inclining her head to him, then looking skyward. "I hope your chests are watertight. This rain doesn't look like it will ease off for some time."

Dannyl nodded. Sonea could hear the gentle hiss of rain that bounced off the shield he had wrapped himself in. "They are new and untested, but the maker came well recommended."

"Clearly a strategy you are favouring for this trip," she murmured. She heard Rothen snort softly beside her, but Dannyl appeared not to hear, as he was still examining his cases critically.

"I have no original documents in there. All copies. Wrapped in oilskin," he continued.

She nodded. "Wise." She turned to her son. He looked at her with that same look he had given her just as they were about to leave his rooms. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and a final squeeze of his arm. "If you need anything, you know what to do," she said in what she hoped was an unquavering voice.

_Please let him find the ring before anyone else does. _

He nodded. "I'm sure I will be able to buy anything I have forgotten. The Sachakans might have a few barbaric customs, but it sounds like they don't lack for luxuries or practicalities." He continued to look at her, seeming to be drinking in the sight of her.

_-Are you learning me by heart, Lorkin? _

He shook his head ever so slightly.

_-I don't need to. You're already there. _A pause. _I love you, Mother. _

_-And you have no idea how much I love you, Lorkin. _

But again, enough of this. "Well, off you go then. Have a good journey."

As Lorkin stepped into the carriage and out of sight, Sonea turned her attention to the other traveller. "I shall be holding you to that promise of yours, Ambassador," she said quietly, so as for Lorkin not to hear. "Return him to me, exactly as I see him now, or I will personally tear your liver out. For my son's sake, good luck to you. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Dannyl swallowed visibly and gave a small bow. "Yes, my lady," he said softly, seeming to understand the fact that Sonea wasn't joking. "Though if he takes after his mother, I can't be held completely responsible if he gets it into his head to do something foolish." As Rothen laughed again, Sonea considered that perhaps hadn't realised that she _really _wasn't joking.

She chose to keep her response as neutral as possible, so as not to ruin this moment for her son. "Well, don't come complaining to me if he causes you trouble. You didn't have to choose him as your assistant, after all."

The corner of Dannyl's mouth twitched upward. "Is he really that bad? I can still change my mind about taking him, can't I?"

Now he was going to far. Sonea fixed him with the look she new could make grown men quake in their boots and waited until he squirmed. "Don't push it, Dannyl," she said softly. She felt Rothen shift slightly beside her. For his sake, she took a deep, steadying breath. "But no, he isn't that bad. In fact, he is quite excellent. Have a good journey."

Dannyl inclined his head to her, then turned to Rothen. "Well, here we find ourselves again," he said with a sad smile. "Time to say goodbye once more."

"Indeed we do," Rothen said, and gave what seemed to Sonea to be a reassuring smile. "Goodbye old friend."

"Farewell, even older friend," Dannyl replied, breaking the tension that had built.

"Off with you then," Rothen said with a shooing motion, and Dannyl grinned and stepped into the carriage. After a few seconds, it jerked into motion. Sonea watched it as it slowly rocked away out of sight. Out of the corner of her eye, she could feel Rothen watching her.

"What are you thinking, little one?" he asked quietly.

She thought about shrugging the feelings away, but he knew her too well for that. And besides, he was the only person she could be completely honest with. She took a deep breath. "You know, for the first time in twenty years, I almost…well, I momentarily don't regret Akkarin not being here."

There was a moment when he didn't say anything, only turned to look at her more head on. "Why?!" he then said incredulously, disbelief clear in his tone.

She obstinately refused to meet his gaze. "Because I am not sure he would have forgiven me for what I just allowed to happen."

She turned and started to walk quickly away back towards the Guild. She heard Rothen walking quickly to catch up with her. "You don't mean that," he said firmly.

"Don't I?" she heard herself snap, and instantly regretted it. She walked even faster.

"No, you don't. For one thing,_ none _of this is your fault. You did everything you could to prevent this. And for another, I doubt even Akkarin, with all his ways, could have prevented it. His son is too like him." He moved surprisingly quickly for a man of his age and came to stand in front of her, forcing her to halt, hands up in a placatory gesture. "Sonea, I've been thinking a lot about it, and the more I do, the more I believe this was always going to happen. Lorkin was never going to be happy until he had proved to himself that he was worth something- and he needed to get away from the Guild, us, _you, _in order to do it."

She gave him the decency to think about it, and realised, with irritation, that maybe he knew her son better than she did. "Perhaps…but I think I will only sleep soundly when my son has returned and his life hasn't been altered beyond recognition. Only then will I be able to feel I haven't failed as a parent." Anyway, I ought to be getting back. Paperwork awaits."

She went to move but he stopped her again. "Come back with me, you could eat with me if you wanted, Tania always brings too much for me these days." He frowned at her, concern clear in his eyes. "I hate seeing you like this."

"As lovely as that sounds," she sighed, "I actually would like to be by myself for a while- if you don't mind. I just need some space to think. And today was always going to be a bit of a rubbish wasn't it?"

He looked at her carefully, then relented, stepping aside. "It was, and of course I don't. You know where I am, though."

She nodded, then with a head still buzzing with frightened thoughts, she slipped away into the rain.

One cannot give in half measures. If one chooses to sacrifice, one must sacrifice the dearest and the best that they have.

**Something that I find difficult about Trudi's writing in TST is the lack of connection between Lorkin & Sonea. To me, their conversations always feel so stilted and unnatural. I've tried to address that a little here- who knows if to a good effect! Such love to you all, Cece xox**


	6. The Long Road Back

Chapter Six: The Long Road Back

_Don't waste the days when I'm dead and I'm gone,  
Wind up the clocks, come around, carry on.  
Don't gather flowers, dry your eyes, see your friends,  
For all I told was the start, not the end.  
Catch your breath, feel the life in your bones,  
Enjoy what's to come, not the things that we've done.  
Save all your prayers, take the pain and the hurt,  
Add your chorus to my verse._

Recovery is never easy. It takes patience, resilience, nerves of steel and the knowledge that whatever road it is you have found yourself travelling on, it's going to be a long road back to where you were before.

But there _is _a road back. No matter how long or windy or treacherous, there is always, _always, _a road back.

As he watched Sonea disappear into the rain, Rothen tried not to let himself become too uneasy so quickly. But as she walked away back to her rooms, he could tell by the way she held her shoulders, the way she suddenly seemed smaller, that all was not well. He had despaired to see her look so worried, so tired, and so sad. He had wanted to protect her, as he always did, by not letting her be on her own with such thoughts. But she was Sonea, and that meant she needed time alone to process all that had occurred. _Don't worry, _he told himself. She's been through much worse than this and come out the other side.

It did worry him, however. Her words, her defeated manner, her sudden smallness, they all reminded him of the person she had been for a brief time all those years ago, in the weeks following the Ichani Invasion. As he slowly walked in the same direction she had taken, back to the Magicians' Quarters, memories he had managed to quash well down with many years of practice suddenly came flooding back.

_"Sonea? It's only me, may I come in?"  
_

_The knock he had softly rapped against the bedroom door once again went unanswered. But he had learnt to take silence as assent a little while ago, so he gently turned the handle and let himself in, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click- knowing their luck, someone would barge in on this conversation at just the wrong moment. _

_The room was dark, and a musty smell hung in the air. It was no wonder- the blinds hadn't been opened since she had locked herself away in here. She didn't want to be seen. He understood that desire, but he couldn't even persuade her to leave the room, not even for an hour, for fear of visitors, even though he had promised to keep everyone away. Everything was still and silent and dark._

_She had stopped crying a week or so ago, which at first had seemed like a good sign. But the crying had been replaced with this silence; this tortured, aching silence that filled his rooms was even worse than her desperate sobs. It was even worse than the screams that came from her persistent nightmares, when he would have to come into her room in the middle of the night and simply hold her until she stopped shaking. She had never been able to tell him what happened in those dreams, but he could quite easily guess. At least when she had made a sound, he knew exactly what it was that was troubling her. But now- now he had no idea what was going through that head of hers. _

_Coming further into the room, he carefully considered what he could make of her in the gloom. She lay as she always did, curled up in a little defensive ball, facing away from the door towards the wall. The slight rise and fall of her shoulder was the only way he knew she was still alive- no globe light hung above her. In fact, he wasn't aware that she had used magic since… well..._

_"Can I get you anything?" he asked softly, already knowing the answer. "A book, perhaps? Or maybe some food?" He unconsciously held his breath, willing strength and voice into her. _

Come on, Sonea. Fight. Please, fight. You just have to.

_The usual silence followed. He always knew it would, but he also knew it was his duty to ask. He wouldn't doubt her- not again. Never again. He couldn't lose her- not again. Never again._

_But then, quite suddenly, just as he was about to leave her alone, she spoke into the desperate silence._

_"I suppose another life would be good, if you happened to have one to hand," her empty voice replied, quavering and a little hoarse from lack of use._

_For what was probably the thousandth time, his heart broke for her. There was nothing he could say to that- if he could change things for her, if he could turn the clock back and redo everything differently, he would do so in a heartbeat. But alas, such abilities were well beyond the skills of humans, including those of magicians. _

_He also recognised that things couldn't stay like this. Something had to give, that much he knew. Up until now, he had been anxious not to distress her further, fearing what would happen if she was pushed too far- the exact reason he was keeping the Higher Magicians' as far away from her as possible. But perhaps it was finally time for difficult words... Something, someone had to bring her back. And if it wasn't going to be him, then who? The only other person who seemed to have the same ability to change her mind was currently lying in state, awaiting the traditional funeral rituals that were bestowed upon magicians. Waiting for Sonea to be ready to face it. _

_He sat down on the chair next to the bed on which she lay, as he had when they had first spoken all those years ago, and decided to take a chance on her, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he knew her as well as he thought he did. _

_"You are letting yourself be defeated, Sonea," he said firmly. "You are far, far more than what you are becoming." She still said nothing, but he could tell by the change in the tempo of her breathing that his words had struck a chord within her. He continued with a gentler tone. "You fought so hard for us, and I need you to find a last bit of strength inside yourself and fight now- but this time I need you to fight for yourself and for your happiness. And…" he wondered if he was going too far, but realised at this point, nothing was too far to bring her back from the abyss. "And if you can't do it for yourself, then please, please Sonea, do it for me. Because I love you, and I can't bear to see you in this much pain." He heard his voice crack at the end of his words, and silently berated himself for it. Whilst he was trying to ignite a fire under her, he hadn't meant to burden her with his own feelings._

_Sonea didn't say anything for a while, but Rothen knew her well enough to know the words would come if he gave her time- just like when they had first conversed, here, in this very room. She had mistrusted him them, but he managed to turn her mind around- he only hoped he could perform the same trick twice. _

If I had any idea what joining the Guild would put her through, would I have been so persuasive for her to do it? _Rothen felt a wave of guilt rush over him at that, but then stopped himself. _If I didn't, we probably all wouldn't be here now.

_Finally, to his great relief, the words did come to Sonea. Slow and stumbling at first, then slowly becoming easier. _

_"I wish I could fight this, Rothen, I really do. It's just...I…"_

_She turned to look at him over her shoulder, and desperate, hollow eyes bore into his. It was a look that was full of so many emotions that it wasn't possible for him to decipher them all. It was a look that would stay and haunt him for many years to come, he knew that even as he took it in- he decided it was the look Juliet must have had, upon awakening in the tomb. _

_"The version of me who left Kyralia- that… fighter you describe- she's dead," she continued. "Akkarin took her with him and now," she shrugged ever so slightly, motioning to herself. "This is all of what is left. This emptiness, this nothingness. Like there is absolutely no point to anything anymore. There's no point to _me _anymore. And it hurts, I can't describe the pain, Rothen, it hurts so much."_

No point to anything… _So _that _was the root of her despair. She didn't believe that without Akkarin, her life was worth anything anymore. That she might as well have died alongside him. The voicing of such a revelation was a milestone, but even as she achieved it, she paid the price with a fresh wellspring of tears._

_He moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He then pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently, and let her weep quietly into his robes. He wept a little, too. He held her as their tears dried up, and then for a little while after that. Silence once again filled the room, but this time it felt a fraction easier than it had before. It was the first time that he had felt that maybe, with a lot of care and resolve, this was something she could live through. For the first time in a while, he felt the gentle dawning light of hope, beckoning to them from outside the covered windows._

_"Can I ask you a personal question?" she whispered shakily into his shoulder, sniffing. _

_"Of course," he said, pushing her tangled hair out of her face behind her ear. Anything to keep her talking._

_"How did you do this? How did you... Survive?" Though the question was cryptically phrased, he knew exactly what she was talking about. He sighed to himself and closed his eyes. _

_He had, of course, considered this exact question, for hours on end over the two weeks. What wisdom could he pass on? What had he learned? After all, perhaps he could make his own experience of loss a little more meaningful if he was able to support someone else with theirs…He was silent for a time, wanting the words to be considered ones, then took her shoulders and made her look at him, her tear-stained eyes barely meeting his. _

_"Do you trust me, my dear Sonea?"_

_She nodded immediately. "You know I do."_

_He smiled at that. Even after all this, all the forces that had tried to tear them apart, they had managed to find a way back to each other again. That too gave him hope. "Then you should believe me when I say... you are strong enough to weather this storm. And then, when the storm has passed and the dawn comes…life will be beautiful again, Sonea. I promise you that. It will never be the same, but it _will_ be beautiful. It just takes time. You are now in a long-term relationship with grief, one that takes time to learn to master. But at some point, you will realise you have found a way to deal with this new stage of your life. But in order to start doing that," he rose from the bed and went to the blinds, ignoring her half-hearted protests, "you need to step into the light."_

And with a gentle push of his hand, hope came flooding back into Sonea's life.

Of course, that wasn't the last bad day Sonea had. That was her at the start of a long, uphill journey, one where she had to refind herself. It turned out to be harder and more complex than either of them had realised. But it was the last day Rothen ever worried that she would never recover.

He had made it back to the Magicians' Quarters without really noticing, but as he returned to himself from his reverie, he found himself smiling. Yes, Sonea would survive. She would thrive. Of course she would, she always did. She just needed time to adjust, and the occasional shoulder to lean on. And as long as Rothen was alive, he would always be there to offer his. And a beloved, gentle voice in the back of his mind that he still missed to this day, even after so many years apart, told him she was proud of him for that.

Recovery is never easy, it is true. But it doesn't have to be the end, either.

**I've had this one under wraps for almost a year- this is a huge element that I think needed exploring. And now I am going to find a tissue because this was EMOTIONAL. Love, Cece xox**


	7. A Faraway Country

Chapter Seven: A Far Away Country Of Which We Know Nothing

_I can see there is so much to learn__  
__It's all so close__…__And yet so far_

When Lorkin woke, for a few seconds he didn't know where he was. Then his mind reminded him of all the things that had happened in the last week, and he was wide awake. He sat up and looked around the room he hadn't really taken in when he had collapsed into bed the previous night. He had been so tired he his head had barely hit the pillow before he was in a deep sleep. But now, sunlight glowed behind the blinds with the familiar Guild symbol etched into them, but because of the difference in the Sachakan climate, it was difficult to ascertain what time it was- it could be his usual waking time, or much later in the morning.

Taking in the space more generally, he realised the room was far larger than his bedroom in the Guild, but what made it particularly fascinating was the mixture of Kyralian and (apparently) Sachakan decorations around the room. The four poster bed was certainly of Kyralian design, but was made in a rich red wood rather than the dark mahogany preferred by the Guild carpenters. Rugs with intricate spiralling patterns covered the floors rather than the traditional carpet one found in all Kyralian homes. It appeared to be a perfect hybrid of the two cultures, not just resting side by side but accepting and complementing each other.

Suddenly, the old serge of energy and excitement for this trip, that had waned somewhat during their long journey, suddenly bubbled to the surface once more- this was a whole new country, a whole new world, a place he knew nothing about- it was his to learn, to explore, to investigate. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, telling him to get up and start this new adventure. He was glad he hadn't let worry get the better of him, because this moment was worth it. He also offered a silent prayer of gratitude for his mother for choosing to be accepting of his decision at just the right moment.

He rose and stretched, catching sight of himself in the ornate mirror, a polished dark wood that matched that of the bed and the other furniture in the room framed the glass. Even from a distance, he could see he really needed a shave, which probably meant it was later than when he normally woke. Directly under the mirror he noticed that a basin of water, a flannel with what appeared to be a razor on it and a bar of soap had been left. He sighed in appreciation and walked over to it- at least their Sachakan servants knew how to serve Kyralians. Then, as he rose from the bed and walked to the basin and mirror, he realised that the small metal object on the flannel wasn't the razor that he had originally assumed it to be.

No, it was a blade.

It was only a small blade, it should be pointed out. It was, however, well-polished and sharpened, placed innocently on the white towel. As Lorkin picked it up to examine it. The entirety of the metal surface was etched with symbols he couldn't decipher. It really was incredibly sharp, much sharper than was probably required for shaving. Suddenly, Lorkin wondered if this knife was originally designed for shaving, or if its creator had darker purposes in mind. He swallowed, and put the knife down gingerly, a little of the nervousness returning.

This place really was quite different from home.

He decided to shave using magic instead- whilst one couldn't be quite so precise as one could with a razor, he didn't feel quite ready for using Sachakan blades as yet. He then splashed water over his face and wondered where he might find a fresh set of robes. He narrowed his eyes at the overly decorated wardrobe in the far corner of the room- if he had learnt anything about their Sachakan staff yet, it was that they were almost disturbingly organised. He walked to the wardrobe and opened it- yes, as he had suspected, the spare robes he had brought with him had been unpacked from his case and hanged up inside, looking ridiculously small and insufficient in the deep space. His spare pair of boots had been neatly placed in the bottom, and it looked as if they had been polished, as Lorkin couldn't remember the buckles gleaming as brightly as they did now when he had packed them back at the Guild. Had someone here polished them? Then an even more disturbing question occurred to him.

_Did someone come in here and do all this whilst I slept…?!_

Lorkin shook his head and decided not to think much on it as he changed. He had been exhausted, after all, and maybe under other circumstances the servants would have woken him. Maybe they had deliberately kept very quiet knowing how tired he had been. Yes, that was probably it…probably.

After quickly shrugging on his clothes, Lorkin opened his bedroom door and headed down the stairs to the main guestroom in search of Dannyl, he couldn't help but think this ability of the Sachakans who had access to his most private chambers ought to be borne in mind.

The interior of the Guildhouse looked far more friendly in the daylight. Last night it had seemed dark and imposing, but now that Lorkin was able to examine it more carefully, he could see that the décor was very reminiscent of that of the Magicians' Quarters back home. A similar rich coloured paper covered the walls as that which covered those in the corridors between rooms, and the deep red of the carpet reminded Lorkin strongly of that which graced the floors of the Night Room. For the briefest of moments, Lorkin felt a wave of homesickness. He really was a long way away from everything he had ever known. Then he took a deep breath and slowly released it- he had been told that such feelings were normal and to be expected. He knew he would feel better once he had something to do. And for that reason, he went in search of the Ambassador.

As Lorkin opened the door to the guestroom, he saw that his travelling companion was already there, sitting in front of a low table covered in papers, a steaming cup floating next to him in mid-air. At the sound of the door being opened, Dannyl looked up and gave him a good-natured smirk.

"Good morning- or good almost afternoon, should I say?" he said, putting down the sheet of paper in his hand on top of some of the others on the table.

Lorkin grimaced apologetically, and looked around for a time piece, but there wasn't one. "Sorry- is it that late?"

Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. "It is, but no matter. It took us long enough to get here, and what with having to entertain on our very first night, you deserved the rest."

"What about you?" Lorkin asked, concerned. From the look of him, it appeared that Dannyl had been settled here for a little while.

Dannyl shrugged. "I have found as I have grown older, I need sleep less and less. I find as much rest in simply sitting and not doing anything these days, which I am told that's normal." He gestured to a familiar looking pot on a low table between the chairs. "Anyway, I am rambling, aren't I? If you would care for some sumi there is some in the pot. It's surprisingly good for a non-Elyne blend."

Lorkin nodded and went to pour himself a cup. "What are you looking at?" he asked as he gently warmed the water with magic and took a sip. It was indeed very good- whilst exotic enough to make him feel like he was trying something new, it was also familiar enough to be comforting.

"Well, my predecessor, whilst a very talented socialite and negotiator, cannot add organisational skills to his list of talents," Dannyl said, gesturing at the paperwork spread out in front of him. Lorkin then noticed there were more papers on the floor. "I mean, there is absolutely no structure to his thinking, none at all. How he ever passed a university exam is beyond me. And it has to be done now or we will have no idea how to start. Still," Dannyl looked up at Lorkin with a slight smile. "I have a biddable young assistant to help me, which will be a welcome change to how I normally work."

Staring at the papers, Lorkin felt a guilty tug of disappointment. Though he reminded himself that he came here to study, and studying required work, he also had hoped for a more…practical introduction to the country than this.

Dannyl frowned. "Why do you make that face, biddable young assistant?"

Lorkin realised his expression must have given him away, and shifted slightly on his feet. But Dannyl's eyes stayed on him, and he realised he had to offer some sort of explanation. He sat down on the chair opposite the older man. "Well it was just- I was hoping to see a bit more of the city before we… well…"

"Started doing the thing we are being paid to do?" Dannyl raised an eyebrow at him, curling the edge of the sheet in his hands beneath his fingertips.

"Well, when you put it like that…" Lorkin felt a blush rise over his cheeks and looked down, feeling decidedly contrite. Then he heard a slight chuckle. When he looked up, he saw Dannyl looking at him, his expression having turned to one of fond amusement.

"But I remember what it is like to be young and in a distant land that you are aching to explore." Dannyl gave him an appraising look, then sighed and waved a hand towards the door. "Go on, then. If you want to go and explore best do it now before it gets too hot. Be back to eat with me, and don't go too far and keep to the main roads."

Lorkin nodded and drained his sumi. "I promise."

Dannyl narrowed his eyes at him and nodded. "I hope you do. Remember, I have your mother to answer to if a single hair on your head is damaged."

Lorkin couldn't help but smile as he rose and put his cup on the side to be cleaned. "You're not actually scared of her, are you?"

Dannyl looked at him carefully. "I would be a stupid man not to be scared of her, seeing as I have had the chance to witness _exactly _what she is capable of when she puts her mind to it. Now get on with you, or you will have your wasted time."

"Yes- thank you for this, Dannyl, I appreciate it." At that, Lorkin went to the door, opened it and strode down the hallway to the front door before Dannyl could change his mind.

"Don't thank me yet, there will be work to be done from when you get back!" he heard Dannyl call out behind him, but Lorkin decided to not hear that, and clicked the door shut behind him.

The streets were, on the surface, very like those of Imardin- busy, noisy and full of life. Lorkin took a moment to simply stand on the front porch of the Guild house, taking in the scene. Despite Dannyl's words, the day was already very hot, hotter than a typical summer's day in Kyralia- and it was a different kind of heat- it was dryer and far less pleasant.

Lorkin rolled back his shoulders and walked down the marble steps to the road below, which was made up of the same fine red dust that Lorkin had seen throughout Sachaka by now. There must a lot of iron in the ground to make it that colour, he mused. He tried not to sneeze as a great explosion of dust was thrust into the air by a horse trotted swiftly passed, being ridden by what appeared to be some sort of didn't appear to be much need for the man's services today. Though the streets were busy, the people all seemed well behaved and getting on with their tasks.

The Guild House was at the top of was seemed to be one of the main thoroughfares through the city. It was a very long road, and right at the very end was what Lorkin recognised from illustrations to be the Palace- there the Sachakan King resided in all his finery.

_He's not just a magician, but a black magician. Mother had a lot to say about that…_

Lorkin wondered whether the decision to have the Guild House and palace looking down the long parade was intentional on the designers' behalf- perhaps they wanted to give the impression of two great states, nobility and magical, being constantly aware of the other, constantly being watched by the other.

_We've arrived, _the Guild House was saying, _and we have no intention of leaving. Don't forget us._

_Yes, we know, _the palace said in reply, _and remember that you stay at our pleasure. Don't forget that. _

It was unsettling, but also heartening, in a strange way, to know that the Sachakans believed the Guild, despite their relative lack of knowledge about black magic, to be enough of a potential threat to want to keep an eye of them.

With that somewhat comforting thought, Lorkin turned his gaze away from the palace and to the people that now surrounded him. This seemed to be like one long market. Stalls went down the road on each side as far as Lorkin could make out. All number of items were up for sale. Clothing, weapons, jewellery, food, it was all here in a rather spectacular chaos. The bartering was fierce, but also appeared well mannered. There was none of the aggression or hostility Lorkin had been told to watch out for. A woman approached him without hesitation, proffering beaded bracelets, to which he held up his hands and used the little Sachakan he had picked up on the way to say "no, but thank you". Other merchants and buyers cast an eye over him, some in a more interested way than others, but all looked away again without so much of a backward glance. It appeared that the novelty of him was not that he was a Guild magician, but that he was a Guild magician they hadn't seen walking this road before.

Lorkin sighed quietly to himself- whilst he had chosen to believe that his mother's fears were the understandable over-reaction of a concerned parent, he hadn't quite been able to shake the feeling that as soon as he arrived, every single Sachakan would know exactly who he was, beyond that which was made obvious by his clothes. No, it seemed that the Higher Magicians hadn't been wrong to take the risk of letting him go.

It was then, at that exact moment, with the great irony that Fate seems to have humour for, that he noticed another pair of eyes, partly hidden in the darkness found several feet behind a stall which had a great cloth canape keeping the sun at bay, watching him in quite a different way.

The eyes weren't particularly interesting in and of themselves- they were the same golden amber hue of all Sachakans that appeared in their dozens on this crowded street, and were held in a face that was the same olive tone. But the expression in those eyes- it was one of pure, unadulterated shock. As if the owner of those eyes had seen a ghost. The man's mouth hung agape, and the great ladle he had been working with both hands in a great steaming pot in front of him clattered away from his grasp.

As Lorkin slowed and felt his brow crease into a frown as he continued to stare right back at this curious figure, the man must have realised that he had been spotted. He quickly schooled his expression back into one of calm studiousness and looked away, picked up his ladle once again and continued stirring the pot. He appeared to treat further into the darkness of the canape, so Lorkin was left to muse on what this might mean. But as he walked away, Lorkin was convinced he could feel the intense stare of the man's eyes boring into the back of his head. He felt the hairs on the neck stand to attention and he shivered despite the weather. No, this was definitely not home.

_I'm not in Imardin anymore…_

**Well, here I am, at home, social distancing. I don't know what happened but since I last posted the world appears to have ripped its seams apart. I have to go to work atm because I am what the UK Government is calling a Key Worker, but my God, I can't wait for this to be over. Please do as you're being instructed, look after others by looking after yourself and for the love of God, wash your hands!**


	8. The Most Unlikely Partnership

Chapter Eight: The Most Unlikely Partnership

_They passed me by,_

_All of those great romances…_

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want you getting anxious about it."

"And telling me at the last minute with no time to prepare _doesn't_ make me anxious?!"

Wynina's eyes were doing that thing they did when she got angry. They became very small and very dark, as if she was trying to pierce into the depths of someone's soul.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I thought I was doing you a favour." Regin sighed. "Just promise not to overdo it."

His wife bristled. "What do you mean by that?"

"Sonea hates…deference. People making her into a show. Just be polite and leave us to it."

They then both heard it- the sound of their butler's deep tones, followed by a higher, feminine voice. They both fell silent and dropped back into their seats, which they had left to have one of their usual shouting matches, and feigned a casual demeanour, as the door was knocked upon and opened.

"Black Magician Sonea, my Lord, ma'am."

The butler bowed and moved aside to reveal a small, dark-clothed figure. From just her stance, slightly widened eyes roaming around the walls, it appeared that Sonea didn't seem as at ease compared to when they had met in her rooms in the Guild. He supposed that was because this time it was on his territory; this time his rules applied. And, of course, there was—

"Black Magician Sonea! Such an honour to have you in our home."

Regin had to hand it to her- you would have no idea that Wynina had been on the verge of panic thirty seconds before. She now stepped forward to greet her guest.

Sonea blinked at the woman with curiosity, seeming to not have expected such a welcome. _Clearly she expected me to marry someone like I once was- Well, Nina has her vices, but bigotry isn't one of them. _Then Sonea smiled softly. "Thank you…" her mouth hung open as she searched for the name that didn't come, and sent Regin a quick glance.

"This is Wynina, my wife," Regin said to spare her, stepping forward, placing a hand on his wife's arm. Always show a united front, that was what he had been told.

Sonea gave him a small smile of gratitude, then returned her gaze to Wynina. "A pleasure to meet you," she said, without a hint of a lie in her voice.

"I have heard so much about you. It's not often we have a person of such historical significance in our home, is it, darling?" Wynina glanced back at him over her shoulder.

Regin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _What did I say about making a show?_

"Oh really? Well, you're not missing out. I can't seem to get the one in my home to leave, she's most annoying!" Sonea gave a humorous roll of her own eyes.

Regin snorted softly, but Wynina, for once, didn't appear to know what to say, not seeming to get the joke. She clasped her hands together and finally seemed to realise her moment was at an end. "Well, you two have serious matters to discuss. I'll leave you be."

Regin watched his wife move swiftly away and supressed a sigh. It could have been worse. Glancing at Sonea, he noted she too was looking at Wynina with not a little interest. As Wynina gave one last smile and clicked the guest room door shut, Regin couldn't help but laugh softly.

"She's quite intimidated by you," he said quietly.

Sonea looked at him, one eyebrow raised in a graceful slant. "Really? She didn't seem it."

"Oh, believe me, she's normally much more… verbose. But anyway, I imagine there is something of far more importance than my wife you came to discuss. Please," he gestured to the chair Wynina had left.

Sonea sat down and placed her hands on her knees. "Yes. I have been doing some digging since we last spoke. Questioning my healers and even some of the patients, and it has led me to agree with you: it would be harmful to abolish the rule against associating with criminals."

He blinked at her, both surprised and, a little guiltily, pleased. "I see," he said slowly. So, his words _had_ had some influence, even if they had simply encouraged her to go and find out more. And she must feel quite strongly about to visit him at home to discuss it. Yes, he'd take that.

"But I still believe this rule is unfair to novices and magicians from the lower classes," Sonea was quick to add. "And that we must do something to resolve that, or we are going to lose talented and powerful novices- or worse, invite rebellion. Things can't stay as they are."

This led Regin to a confession of his own. He too had been giving it some thought since they had spoken before. "Well you aren't the only one to have had an epiphany. I have come to agree with you on this. And for quite opposite reasons, I feel we must ensure that those magicians charged with ensuring the rule is obeyed and punishing those who break it do so fairly and without favour."

"The rule must be changed, not abolished," Sonea summarised with finality.

He looked at her, and she looked at him. They were both silent for a good few heart beats. For the first time in over twenty years, they had reached a civil understanding.

"Well, that was somewhat easier than I thought it was going to be," she said eventually I was all ready to fight you on this- not literally, this time, of course," she smiled wanly.

He couldn't help but laugh. "I wouldn't even dare do that again- but now we must face the hard part. How should the rule be changed, and how are we going to convince the Higher Magicians, or the rest of the Guild, to vote the way we want them to vote?"

A frown creased her brow. She leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the arm. "It might be easier to plan our approach if we knew who was going to be voting," she said slowly.

She made a good point. _And in order to know how the voting is going to work, there's one man we must persuade first…_

"Osen will be more likely to decide the way we want him to swing if we both suggest the same thing," Regin replied. "I recommend we go to him separately and tell him our preference. Or you must persuade Lord Pendel to, as he is the leader of those seeking the abolition of the rule."

Sonea nodded slowly, thinking carefully. "I think he will listen to me. But I will have to give him a good reason to suggest one way or the other. And you? What about the rest of the oppositioners?"

He shrugged. "I will do what I can to soften the stance of the opposed. We must explore the advantages and disadvantages of both possibilities thoroughly, so we are ready for all arguments raised against us."

She raised a finger to underline a point. "Yes, though we will need to consider different approaches according to who we need to convince; either the Higher Magicians or the whole Guild. I suspect, given the choice between abolishing the rule, retaining it or changing it most of the Higher Magicians would vote to keep things as they are."

Regin agreed. "You're probably right, and would know better than I. Putting the vote to the whole Guild may have a les predictable outcome, but will most likely lead to a compromise- which will be to change the rule. How to change the rule will be the main focus of the debate."

Sonea sighed and spread her hands. "Yes, which brings us back to the hardest question: how do we want to change the rule?"

He leaned forward eagerly. "I have a few ideas. Shall I go first."

She waved a hand. "By all means."

Then he had a thought. He stood, feeling her eyes following him carefully, and turned away from her to grab two glasses and a bottle of wine from the nearest drinks' cabinet. He filled the glasses and returned to his seat, handing her one. "But first, I think, a toast- to the least likely partnership in the Guild's history," he held out his glass to her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then chuckled slightly and brought her glass to his so they met with a soft chink. "May we be successful." She took a sip and smiled appreciatively. "So, tell me what you had in mind."

"Well, my first recommendation would be to change the wording of the law. What does "dubious association" mean? The problem with that phrase is that it can be twisted to mean whatever the Guild wants it to mean. I would recommend us creating a specific definition, meaning that all magicians and novices, no matter what their background, can be judged on the same unequivocal definition."

"That sounds….reasonable. And would the Higher Magicians be the one to create this new definition, as you so put it?"

"Oh, definitely. Can you imagine putting that to the entire Guild?"

She smiled wanly. "I can imagine it, but I can also imagine it taking hours and hours of debating. So, what else?"

"My second recommendation would be to add a word or two about _intent. _There is a great difference between, say, you choosing, rightly, to Heal someone who also happens to have a criminal record, and another magician choosing to involve himself in a criminal gang."

"I am bound to agree with that. But surely such a amendment is open to all sorts of abuse- say I knew an acquaintance of mine is involved in some shady dealings in the city, and then I get caught spending time with her. I could then put my hands up and lie, saying I had no idea."

"To be honest, that is where my argument falls down, and where you might be able to improve it. One thought that did occur to me, though, is a second amendment of permission-seeking. If a novice from the lower classes, say, has a parent who they know is dealing roet, but has no intention of taking the substance themselves or involving themselves in its distribution, they should be able to ask permission in order to not come under investigation later on."

Their conversation went on for quite some time, until the entire bottle of wine had been drunk and the room was considerably darker than when they sat down. Regin, however, deemed it to have been time well spent. They had thrashed out the details of their plan, and were confident of its success.

"Well, I believe that is all we can do for now. We need to talk to our respective parties and Osen before we do any more," Sonea said, then looked out the window into the darkening street beyond. "Plus I have taken up far too much of your time. I must get out of your wife's hair." She drained her glass and rose, and he followed suit.

"I would be a poor host if I did not ask you to stay for dinner," he offered, "though I suspect you have things to be getting on with?"

She nodded. "Unfortunately I do, but I appreciate the offer none the less. Perhaps another time?" They both knew that she didn't mean it, but the words had to be said, of course, to honour diplomacy.

"Of course. I'll see you out."

He showed her the way back to the front door, where a servant opened it to reveal a waiting Guild carriage outside. Sonea turned back to him and smiled. "Thank you for your time, Lord Regin. No doubt we will speak again soon. Give my thanks to Wynina, won't you?"

"I'll be sure to keep you posted, and of course I will."

"Thank you." She headed for the door, then paused and turned back. "You know, the more I think about it, the more I think Osen will have to come around to our point of view."

He frowned, not understanding. "Oh, really? And why might that be?"

"Well, it's like you said, we are the most unlikely partnership in the Guild's history. If us two of all people can come to agree on something, then our argument must have a lot of merit." She shrugged and inclined her head to him. "Goodnight, Regin."

She slipped out the door and it was clicked shut before he could give a quiet "Goodnight, Sonea," in return.

He went back into the guest room to clear the table of the glasses and bottle- Wynina did always make such a fuss when anything was left ever so slightly not as it should be, and at this moment in time he really didn't have the energy to fight her.

"Weren't you going to invite her to stay for dinner?" The voice held its usual coat of distaste.

He sighed, and turned to the speaker. "Of course I asked her, Nina, but she declined. Besides, Sonea has better things to do than watch us glaring at each other."

Winara, ironically, gave him a filthy look before stalking away out of the room, letting her skirts billow out behind her in a rather ridiculous fashion.

"She wanted me to thank you for your hospitality, by the way."

_Not that you did anything to deserve it…_

When Wynina, not particularly surprisingly, didn't; reply, he sighed, allowing his head to roll back slightly.

_I wonder which one she will go to tonight. _


	9. Chess

Chapter Nine: Chess

_I'll count the days_

'_Till I am yours._

_I'll spend the nights_

_Staring at skies…_

_So many years I have spent… _

_Simply loving you. _

_Back in a minute- make yourself comfortable! -R._

The message was short to the point and rather annoying. Still, it was unlike Rothen, so Sonea knew he must be up to something important. It also gave her the chance to do something she had wanted to for a little while. Almost guiltily, she crossed to the other side of the guest room and opened the door to the room that had once been hers. Thinking it through, she realised it had been over twenty years since she had last occupied this space. The bedroom furniture had long since vanished, now replaced with space for many, many books. Rothen was not a hoarder by any means, but his love of books was clearly the closest he got.

She leaned her head against the oak doorframe and sighed. The sight of the small space gave her a mixture of sensations, and she allowed herself to breath them all in in equal measure. It was the first room she had come to know in the Guild. It was the space she had been forced to leave when Regin had stirred up malicious gossip. It was the sanctuary she had returned to when all had been lost, but swiftly became a prison when she lost the ability to leave it. It was a space where many milestones had been passed, and now it had been retired to simply be an old room, full of old books. Perhaps that was only right and fitting.

Just then, a knock came at the main door to Rothen's rooms. Frowning, Sonea went to open it. Should she really answer Rothen's door for him? And if he was expecting other guests, why wasn't he back? As the view of the corridor of the Magicians' Quarters came into view, a figure she was getting a little too familiar with of late stood on the threshold.

_Oh, but _of course_ you didn't tell me _he_ was invited, Rothen, you sly old thing. Otherwise you would have known I never would have come...not that you would have believed whatever excuse I came up with. _

Regin blinked at her in surprise, but inclined his head politely without missing a beat. "Black Magician Sonea, greetings. I believe Rothen is expecting me."

"Good evening, Lord Regin. I will have to take your word for it, as it appears Rothen is running late. Do come in, though. I assume he wants to speak to both of us together." Sonea stepped out of the doorway and beckoned him inside.

"Thank you." Regin stepped passed her and gracefully folded himself into one of the chairs. He waited until she had shut the door to ask, "I am assuming this is about the rogue?"

Sonea shrugged, sitting opposite him. "Very possibly. I don't see why else he would be getting us together so secretly."

A silence fell between them then. The sound of a conversation in the corridor filled the void, but only for a few heartbeats. It was strange- the last time they had met, they had been full of conversation, so why had this awkwardness fallen now? To Sonea's relief, Regin cleared his throat to take up the reins of the conversation. "I have been meaning to ask, how is Lorkin getting along in Sachaka? Have you heard from him recently?"

Sonea was grateful that she had happened to look down at her hands clasped in her lap as he asked this. It gave her the opportunity to school her expression into a practiced smile before looking up at him. She felt a sudden guilt at having to lie to him, when he had done so much to try and gain her trust, so adjusted the words she had used with other magicians carefully so as not to lie, but also not tell the exact truth.

"He's… certainly throwing himself into the culture, shall we say," she said in what she hoped was a casual voice. "Doing everything I would expect him to do."

Regin studied her carefully for a few seconds before giving in to a lop-sided smile. "Well, as long as he is enjoying himself, and not breaking too many rules, of course, that can't be all bad."

At that moment, Sonea felt a mad urge to tell him. In her mind, she told him that her son had been abducted by a group of maverick women, that Dannyl was searching madly for him as they spoke, that she hadn't felt a sense of impending dread like this since before his birth. But she knew the moment that she did, she would immediately regret her words. She was less concerned about that he would do with such information, she knew she could trust him to keep such secrets to himself, but was more concerned about why she had such an urge in the first place. But that was a thought for another time, something to ponder in the middle of a sleepless night. Best to move on for now.

"How are your daughters?" she asked with a smile, by way of subtly changing the conversation, hoping Regin didn't notice.

"Oh, the same as ever," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Isabel has settled well in Elyne, and hopefully isn't getting too involved in court gossip," Regin rolled his eyes slightly at this point, "and Neva still seems enchanted with her new husband, so long may that continue."

Sonea chuckled and shook her head slightly. "It seems impossible to me that we have children old enough to be going abroad without us, let alone getting married. I don't feel old enough. Before we know it, we will both have grandchildren, and then where will we be?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "On the contrary, I feel positively ancient some days. I suppose it's because when I think about what life was like here, before…well, before everything changed, it seems like a dream, like it couldn't have really happened. Or it happened to someone else, in another era. We have both lived through many a change."

She wondered at that. "Do you think those changes have been for good or for ill?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He tilted his head to the side as he thought the question over. "Overall, good. I think there are still a great many things for us to learn and obstacles for us to overcome, like this rule we changed for example, but the Guild has come a long way since we were novices, and that can't be a bad thing. But whether individual magicians are any better or worse," he shrugged. "That question may be too close for comfort for me."

Another slightly awkward silence settled between them then- one of two people who are trying to be polite to each other, but have run out of things to say. She tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound stilted or awkward, but failed miserably.

Thankfully, Regin didn't. He nodded to something behind her. "That's a beautiful chess set, I noticed it last time I was here. Do you happen to know where Rothen got it?"

Sonea turned in her chair and looked at what he was indicating On the low window sill of the right hand window of the room was an ornate but ungaudy chess set. "He was given it as a gift from Dannyl a while ago- it was made in Capia, I believe." She rose to study it more closely- she hadn't really looked at it in detail for years. Like so many things, it had been left on the side to gather dust and was forgotten in plain sight. "Do you play?" she asked over her shoulder.

He grimaced. "Badly, but I still appreciate the aesthetic value of a good set. You?"

She laughed. "Very badly. Rothen did show the basics but I never had the patience to learn properly. I am told the great masters learn to think ten, twenty moves in advance. They see everything as it is going to pan out- which made me always wonder, why bother playing, if you know how things are going to go."

"A bit like life, I suppose," he mused. "But we're not allowed to stop playing even if we know the eventual outcome. Perhaps that's how those Masters feel- that they must keep playing."

"Hmm, maybe." She picked up one of the pieces and rolled the polished wood beneath her fingers, watching how the light from the window danced across its surface in different ways as it moved. "Have you ever felt like a chess piece, yourself?" she asked, without really thinking about what she was saying. "In some strange game that is being played around you, and you're simply a pawn, powerless to stop it?"

In the corner of her eye she saw him shift in his chair, and felt his eyes on her. "I suppose when I was younger I felt like that. But not so much anymore, now I am considered mature enough to make my own choices. Why, do you feel that way?"

"Constantly. It's insufferable. I feel like I'm being pulled round the board, square to square..." She realised then that she had said and felt her cheeks grow hot. The candidness that she had forced herself to quash only minutes before had reared its head again without her realising. "Still, you're not the one to burden with that," she finished, somewhat lamely.

He rose and came to stand closer to her, leaning slightly against the windowsill. "If that's the case," he said slowly, reaching out to pluck one of the pawns from its position, "then you're going to have to master the rules of the game until they can play it better than they can."

_Interesting- I didn't say who _they_ are, and yet he seems to know exactly who and what I am talking about. _

She took in exactly what he had said and snorted, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "When I have told other people that- well, not in so many words, but you know what I mean, they encourage me to find a clever husband who can play the game for me."

He smiled knowingly and shook his head, put the piece down and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think you have proven for the last twenty years that you have absolutely no need of a husband- clever or not."

Before she could even react to that, the main door to the room opened and Rothen entered. He took in the scene before him and smiled.

"Sorry to have kept you both waiting."

"Finally, we were about to send out a search party," she said, then realised what she had said and held back a grimace. When she looked back at Rothen, he saw a look of sympathy and understanding in his eyes. But, of course, he didn't say anything, and if Regin was astute enough to notice the slight pause in the conversation, he was also polite enough to ignore it.

"Lord Arnett really knows how to talk- if you could use ten words to make your point, he would use fifty," Rothen said as he ushered them both to seats.

Regin chuckled. "Yes, he can be rather like that, can't he? Still, he knows what he is about."

"I suppose he does, but that is not what I asked you both here for. It occurred to me that if we are to hunt this rogue out together, and do it quietly, then we need to have a better plan than we currently have. And we need contingency plans in case our first plan goes wrong." He turned to Sonea. "I take it you have your ways and means of getting all this back to Cery?"

Sonea nodded. "As you say, I have my ways…" she paused. "I was about to say it's probably best you don't know about them, but then again, maybe you should. If for whatever reason Cery finds the Rogue and I am unable to help, he will need to be able to get in contact with one of you."

"Perhaps you could introduce us," Regin said, then smiled wryly, "or, more correctly, could re-introduce us. I doubt he has the faintest recollection of me, but he saved my life and I wouldn't mind doing something to help him."

Sonea herself had forgotten that Regin and Cery had briefly met, but of course she didn't say that out loud. "Of course, we can arrange for you to meet at Northside Hospice, sometime when it is convenient for you both."

Regin nodded, and turned back to Rothen. "Apologies, Lord Rothen, we appear to have gone on something of a tangent."

Rothen spread his hands. "No, not at all, this is the kind of thing I thought we ought to discuss."

They talked for almost an hour, going over some of the finer details of their plan. They swapped ideas and concerns, and even managed to share the occasional joke. Eventually, the conversation grew slower, until they had realised they needed to see their plans in action before they could do any more.

Evetually Regin looked out the window. Outside, the Guild gardens were growing dark and quiet. "I should be going," he said. "I still have classes to plan for the upcoming week."

"Of course, thank you for coming, Lord Regin. Your contribution to this is much appreciated."

"Not at all, happy to be of service."

Regin rose and inclined his head to both of them. Just as he reached out a hand to grasp the handle of the door out to the corridor, he sighed and dropped his hand back to his side. He turned back to look at Sonea, as of a thought had struck him. "Look, about what I said earlier, Sonea…I didn't mean to suggest that you shouldn't find a husband- if that is what you want. All I meant was, if you were so inclined as to bring such a man into your life, I would say…find one who will play the game _with_ you, not for you. Just a thought," he finished softly.

Through the corner of her eye, Sonea noticed Rothen's slowly head turn to look at her, eyes wide with a questioning expression. She kept her eyes on Regin, and he held her gaze calmly. When she couldn't think of anything fitting to say, particularly in front of Rothen, so she simply nodded once. "Sound advice, Lord Regin."

He bowed his head to her, and departed. The room was silent for a few heartbeats, as Sonea felt her burning cheeks slowly cool. Then Rothen let out a slight cough of amusement.

"Do you want to catch me up on what on earth _that_ was supposed to mean?"

For the first time since Regin had spoken, Sonea looked at him with what she hoped was her best haughty expression. "Absolutely not."

"But—"

"Oh, do shut up, Rothen."


	10. What Would You Have Done?

Chapter Ten: What Would You Have Done?

_Dreams last for so long,_

_Even after you're gone…_

It was still possible to feel him in here- even now. Even now…

It had been over twenty years since Lorlen's gentle but authoritative tones had been heard in the office of the Administrator of the Magicians' Guild, but his personality seemed to be imbued into the finely decorated walls. One of the reasons for that, one could suppose, is because this room had been completely untouched by the attempted Ichani Invasion- not a single piece of furniture had had to be replaced. In fact, the effect was so strong that even now, though the dust had long but settled and he had been Administrator for over four times as long as his old master, Osen sometimes forgot that Lorlen was gone. Sometimes, as he approached the office door, he would raise his hand to knock…and then he would remember. And every time he did, it sent a dagger through his heart. Some pains never go away.

He felt that pain all the keener when times in this office were hard, intense, or anxiety provoking. During the first few painful weeks, that had been every waking moment. Then, as time went by and old wounds started to slowly heal, those times got further and further apart. But they did indeed still happen. And at such times, Osen could not help but turn and look at the portrait that hung above his desk and ask the familiar face, "What would you have done? You _always_ knew what to do…"

He sometimes wondered whether Balkan ever had similar thoughts, when the High Lord sat alone in his residence. Osen wondered if that was why he had done such extensive renovations to the building- to chase out the ghosts of High Lords past. But at no point over the decades had he ever feel brave enough to ask. And at no point did he think Balkan would ever admit it even if he did.

There was a sharp knock on the office door. With a wave of his hand, Osen opened it with the gentlest wisp of magic. A young Guild messenger stood in the doorway. All the messengers appeared inappropriately young to Osen these days- but then again, maybe that was because he was getting old. The messenger bowed and came into the room, extending his hand, in which he held a neatly folded piece of paper, a wax seal holding it in place. "A couriered message for you, my Lord," he said, before handing it over.

"Thank you," Osen murmured in return. As the messenger made his retreat and the door closed, Osen looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. The wax seal was emblazoned with the unmistakable emblem of the Guild, with the addition of a wreath of olive leaves surrounding it- the emblem used by Guild ambassadors. This particular stamp, with writing in a language Osen could even attempt to translate, was the newest of all the ambassadorial seals.

Putting all this information together, including the fact that the letter was sent by courier, Osen knew _exactly_ who the message was from and what it contained- it did not take a genius to guess, after all. He only hoped it was very wrong.

Staring down at his own name that had been carefully inked onto the crisp parchment, Osen realised he could not put off the inevitable forever. He broke the seal, opened the letter, and began to read. He scanned the neat handwriting to quickly get an idea of the information it contained, not particularly caring for the particulars at this moment in time. His hopes were dashed- he had been very right.

"_Good news, I hope?"_

Osen finished reading, dropped the letter to the desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, a habit he had picked up since taking up his new office. "I am afraid not. Dannyl still has no indication of where Lorkin may be. His leads have all proven useless so far. He asks for more urgent assistance. It appears more drastic action will be required, which means not only that the safety of Lorkin's life could still be in the balance, but our relations with Sachaka could be in danger."

"_Ah. I am sorry to hear that, old friend. This would be a real challenge for any Administrator. It is a real test of one's nerve, and of how strong we have been able to make our bond with an old foe."_

"It's a bloody mess, that's what it is. Let us not dress it up any more than that."

A pause. _"I suppose the most pressing question, beyond asking exactly what you're going to do to get Lorkin back, is…what are you going to tell Sonea?"_

Osen shrugged. If he had learnt anything in this office, it was not to go into battle when you have already lost- and when it came to Black Magician Sonea, he hadn't just lost the battle, but the entire war. They both knew that, in reality, he had previous little control over her. She had the decency to not make that point obvious to the rest of the Guild, so they both just pretended otherwise. "The truth, I imagine," he said with a note of surrender in his tone. "No doubt she will see through anything else."

"_Very true- she was always a bright one. Too bright for her own good, on occasion, as I recall."_

"But just about bright enough to save us when we weren't bright enough to save ourselves." Osen could not hold back the slight bite in the words, even though he knew they weren't deserved.

Another pause. _"There is not point dwelling on the past- it's over and done with."_

"But it clearly isn't! Don't you see, everything that was, everything that Akkarin said happened to him, is happening again- but this time to his son. Surely that can't be coincidence? History never does anything but repeat, over and over and over again in a loop none of us can control. And I am not dwelling on the past, by the way."

"_Just as you say. But _you_ are the one talking to a dead person_, _just so we are clear."_

"That doesn't mean I am dwelling on the past… it means I am trying to work out what to do, because I am running out of ideas. Seriously, I need to know- what would you have done? You _always _knew what to do."

"_This is my best friend's son we're discussing. You cannot expect me to be impartial in this matter. And that is what the Administrator must be- impartial in all things, particularly in the face of ethical quandaries." _

"Then I wish I didn't have to do this anymore. Organisation and leadership, I have got to grips with those. I can even just about stand the Guild's pathetic bickering and factions… But making these sorts of decisions," Osen sighed heavily. "That's for another, better sort of person."

"_All leaders who face such troubles feel the same- I know I did. When faced with the greatest enemy the Guild had known in many generations, I did not feel up to the task- but then again, perhaps I wasn't. But what happens during your time is not for either you or I do decide upon. All you can do is do the best with the situation that has been handed to you." _

Osen for quiet for quite some time, and a heavy silence fell over the office.

"_Why is this troubling _you _so much? This is hard, I know, but I am not understanding why it is _quite_ so hard for you. You know why it would trouble me, but I fail to see how that links to you…"_

"I…" Osen sighed and put his head in his hands. "If anything happens to him… I will never forgive myself. I was the one who allowed Lorkin to go- it was my decision, when it came to it. The buck stops with me. And everything Sonea warned us could come to pass has happened. Just like last time... This is all my fault." His voice choked a little on the final words.

"_Osen, this _isn't _your fault. You made the best decision that you could, by taking as much advice as you could from multiple sources with the best information. If we shelter every magician from every single bad thing that could to them, the Guild wouldn't be able to function. Besides, Lorkin is just like his mother and as stubborn as a mule by all accounts. I doubt you have changed his mind once he decided to set his mind to it."_

Osen lifted his head and thought. "Funny, I remember Akkarin saying something similar about Sonea- when we took them across the border."

"_Well, that only adds force to my argument. And I thought you said he didn't say anything to you when you parted?"_

"He did when I asked him to help her see reason. He didn't say anything when I told her to take care of her. Those were the last words I ever spoke to him. Now I know he didn't really deserve them."

"_We now know a lot of things he chose to keep quiet- maybe we will learn even more as time goes on. For now, you can only work with the information that you have."_

Osen rolled his shoulders and tried to feel more confident, knowing the advice was good. "How is it that, after all this time, I still feel the need to talk things through with you?"

In Osen's imagination, he heard a sigh, and the voice became softer, like one you might use to break bad news. _"Osen, my dear fellow, you know I am not really talking to you. I've been dead for twenty and a half years. You know this. I am just a voice in your head that you tell yourself is me, the echo of a person who once was, that now only exists in the memories of people that knew me well. And what you have established to yourself is that history must not be allowed to repeat itself. You must get the boy back, and as swiftly as possible."_

Osen rubbed his hands over his face as a wave of hopeless loneliness stole over him. Yes, he was alone. He allowed himself a few minutes to bask in the sensation, before taking in a deep breath, pulling his hands away from his face and rolling his shoulders back.

He was right- history must not be allowed to repeat. Blood could not be allowed to be so needlessly shed, like the last time. And, whilst the situation looked bleak, it was not as bad as last time. If Lorkin had been taken by people with the ability to use Black Magic, the Guild was prepared. Not only did they have contacts within the official Sachakan court, they had their own trained black magicians, one of whom was chomping at the bit to be allowed to help. No mistakes this time.

No lies this time, either.

Osen turned and looked up at the portrait behind him. Lorlen's dark grey eyes stared back at Osen, a gentle smile softening the late Administrator's features. He had been painted sitting at the very desk at which Osen now sat. In his hands, he loosely held the gong that it was the Administrator's duty to ring at the beginning and end of every Guild meet. It was a painting that Osen himself had commissioned, to remind every person that came into this room of the sacrifice that had been made for them so that they might live.

"I know you're not really there, and I know it's probably mad of me to continue to keep talking to you like this, but still… thank you. Even if it is just for all the lessons you taught me."

Osen rose and, knowing this was going to be the most uncomfortable conversation he had had in a while, made his way to the office door in order to search out Sonea. Just as he was shutting the door behind him, he thought he caught a quiet voice in the back of his mind.

_-You're welcome, old friend. Good luck. _

**Thank you to the sweetest of reviewers I have had this week- you darlings, taking your time in self-isolation to send me the nicest things! Hope you are all keeping well- stay well, stay safe. Sending love out into the void, Cece xoxox**


	11. The Endless Night (Part I)

Chapter Eleven: The Endless Night (Part 1)

_I'm trying to hold on__  
__Just waiting to hear your voice__  
__One word, just a word will do__  
__To end this nightmare…_

"_Is that what he looked like, Rothen? Is it?"_

_Lorkin looked up at the man who had his hands on his shoulders, whose back was protecting him from the chill autumn wind. Rothen gave the statue in front of them a long, hard stare, then frowned and shook his head. "No, it doesn't. Not really, anyway."_

_Lorkin shuffled on his feet a bit, displeased with the answer. "Then…what's wrong with it?"_

"_Hmm," Rothen did not answer immediately, but scratched his chin in thought. "I suppose the statue should be taller, and thinner, too. And the face is too… stern. That's not an expression your father used. Well, not one I saw him use, anyway."_

_They stood together and stared up at the polished stone for a little while longer. It was nice, standing here in the quiet with Rothen. A faint breeze rustled through the trees around the square, bringing down deeply coloured leaves, was the only sound Lorkin could hear. It gave him more time to think, and to ask questions, of course._

"_Rothen?" Lorkin always asked Rothen a lot of questions. Rothen was one of the only people, besides his mama, that did not seem to mind lots of questions. In fact, he always seemed pleased when Lorkin gave to him with yet another one. Lorkin always wondered why grown ups were so different in that way. _

"_Yes?" Rothen replied, as ever not sounding at all annoyed._

"_Why didn't Mama come and see him with us? She wasn't busy, I know."_

_Rothen sighed. He had that expression on his face that grown-ups use when they are trying to find a way of explaining things in a nice way to children. "I think…" he began slowly. "I think seeing the statue would make her sad. And she doesn't want to be sad, you see."_

_Lorkin looked down at the paved stone beneath his feet. He watched as an old brown leaf was blown across his shoes by the chill wind. "Is Mama sad a lot?"_

_Lorkin felt Rothen shrug as the hands on his shoulders moved slightly. "Sometimes. But not all the time. And she isn't as sad as she used to be- before you were born, that is. Things were different then. We've talked about that, haven't we?"_

_Lorkin shoved his hands into the pockets of his cloak- they were starting to feel too cold, now. "But I don't want her to be sad any time. How can I make her happy?"_

_Rothen looked down at him. There was a frown on his face- Lorkin knew frowns were for when adults were cross, and was suddenly nervous. Had he said something wrong? But then crouched down next to him so they were looking right at each other. He put a hand around the back of Lorkin's neck and smoothed the hair there softly. "You _do_ make your mama happy, Lorkin- incredibly so. I do not think anything makes her as happy as you do. And if you see her sad sometimes, you must not think that it is because of you, or that you need to do something special to cheer her up. You are doing that already by just being her son, I promise. Do you understand?"_

_Lorkin thought about it for a moment, then nodded. He trusted Rothen. He knew they weren't related, both his mama and Rothen himself had explained that to him more than once, but Rothen was someone Lorkin knew well, and could trust better than some people he was actually related to. Plus he told really good stories._

_Rothen smiled gently and held out his hand for Lorkin to take. "Good, that's that then. Shall we go home now?"_

_Lorkin nodded again and held out his hand, which Rothen took, then rose from his crouch to his full height, way above Lorkin's head. Lorkin wondered if he would be that tall one day. It would be fun being that tall. _

_They walked without talking for a little bit. They passed a few people as they left the square and headed in the direction of home. Some of those people looked at Lorkin curiously, even though they were trying to hide it by looking away quickly. Did grown ups really think that children were too young to notice such things? And these people know who he was? But he had never seen them before, how could they know him? Lorkin wondered what he was supposed to do about it. He looked at Rothen. The man seemed to have noticed the strangers' glances too, but didn't seem bothered by them. It was then that Lorkin thought of another question. "Rothen?"_

"_Yes, Lorkin?" He still didn't sound annoyed. _

"_None of my friends' fathers are dead. I mean, I don't _think_ they are."_

_Rothen shook his head, the cold wind blowing through his hair slightly. "No, I shouldn't think they are. It's very unusual to lose your father before you're even born."_

"_So then, if they all have one…why not me?"_

_Rothen looked down at him curiously, his blue eyes not leaving Lorkin's. "You know the story, Lorkin- you know what happened to your father. Remember what your mama told you?"_

_Lorkin nodded. "Yes, I remember. But… but _why_ did it happen, Rothen? She's never explained that to me."_

_Rothen looked away from Lorkin and seemed to be looking at the street ahead of them. "Ah," he said, with an expression on his face that grown-ups use when they are trying to figure something out. Lorkin had worked out a while ago that being grown up did not mean that grown ups knew the answers to everything, no matter what they tried to tell you. "That is a big question, Lorkin. Very big. So big, in fact, that I cannot really answer it properly. __I suppose all I can say to you is…when you've grown up a bit more, you will learn that sometimes things happen for no good reason, and good people get hurt as a result. Your father died when he did not deserve to. And many people were hurt by that, besides your father- your mother was hurt by it, and you were too. I cannot tell you why this happened, only that it did, and it is very sad." Then Rothen slowed and looked down at Lorkin, a solemn expression in his eyes. "But you know you are very loved, don't you Lorkin? You are just as loved as any of your friends. Your mother loves you, I love you, and you have a family that will always be there for you."_

_Lorkin nodded again and smiled, feeling content with that answer, his youth keeping him blissfully unaware that it wasn't really an answer at all. "I know."_

_Rothen smiled back and squeezed his hand gently. "Come on, then, enough big questions for one day, I think. If we get home early enough, there may even be time for a story before your bed time."_

"_Really?!" Lorkin pulled at Rothen's hand to make him speed up. "Then we need to go faster!" Rothen laughed and let himself be dragged along. Rothen's stories were worth going fast for. _

_Then Lorkin thought of another question. "Rothen?"_

"_Yes?" Still not annoyed. _

"_I was wondering, what was—"_

"- he like?"

Lorkin blinked and took in a deep breath as he returned to the real world. He turned and looked at the woman that had just sat down next to him. Beautiful golden eyes were looking at him curiously, as if trying to see beyond his own eyes into the very depths of his mind. She had a way of doing that, and Lorkin wondered whether it was deliberate or habitual on her part.

He gave an apologetic sigh. "Sorry, did you ask me something?"

Tyvara gave a wry smile as she pulled her knees up close to her chest, drumming her fingers on her calves. "I said- your father, what was he like?"

Lorkin felt a flash of irritation at the ridiculousness of the question, to put to him of all people. "How am I supposed to know the answer to that?" He scoffed. "He was dead before anyone even guessed of my existence."

For the first time since they had met, Tyvara looked embarrassed. She turned away from him with eyes lowered to the dusty red ground beneath them. "I'm sorry," she said softly. For a woman with such confidence, to hear her sound so humbled was a curious experience for Lorkin. "It's just… Akkarin has been quite the topic of conversation around the camp tonight, as you can imagine, and I thought you were the best person to ask to get real information about him."

Lorkin sighed and rubbed his eyes, now irritated at himself rather than her. He was more tired than he had realised, and he had let it get the better of him. He refreshed himself with a little Healing magic before looking at Tyvara again. "No, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. It's just been…" he sighed again. "Well, it's been an interesting few days." Tyvara gave him an apologetic smile and nodded.

An interesting few days- that was one way of describing it. Nearly being killed in the middle of what he had thought was simply a passionate tryst, abducted and taken away to meet a secret group of black magic wielding women that apparently his father had some unfinished business with, even beyond the grave? He sometimes found himself wondering whether he was dreaming all this, but then realised his mind could never have come up with something so odd. No, this was all too real, unfortunately.

Dannyl was probably furious, and deeply, deeply regretting his choice of assistant. After all, Lorkin knew his mother had made a very specific threat against him, and as far as Dannyl was concerned, Sonea was a woman who kept oaths.

The worst part of it all was, of course, that, once again, his mother had been proved right. She had sensed that all was not over and done with in Sachaka as far as their family was concerned, and her call for caution would have been a sensible course of action. If she was not so worried, as Lorkin was sure she would be, she would be enjoying the satisfaction of once again being the only sensible voice in the Guild. When all was said and done, she wouldn't let Lorkin forget it. No, she was probably just very, very worried- and even more furious than Dannyl.

But Lorkin also knew, despite the worrying situation in which he know found himself and the concern he must be causing on an international scale, he couldn't bring himself to regret asking to come with Dannyl as his assistant. After all, even though his mother had been wary, no one could have predicted this exact turn of events- well, at least no one alive.

_I can't spend the rest of my life living in a dead person's shadow. I can't. _

Lorkin remembered then that Tyvara must still waiting for an answer, patiently sitting beside him, as the large Sachakan sun slowly set in front of them. He rolled back his arms behind him in the dusty ground and considered the question she had asked. "My mother…she always described him as the brooding sort- the kind of man who would stand in the corner of a room, watching everyone and enjoying it, rather than joining in. He always seemed dark and mysterious. Many thought it was an act so that people would be scared of him, turns out he genuinely had a lot to be dark and mysterious about. But he also had his reasons for that, good reasons, as fate would have it."

"And he was rather handsome from what I am told—" Tyvara said in a rich, low voice, a hint of humour in her tone. "The women of the Guild, maybe even of the Kyralian court, must have been head over heels for him- this dark, brooding handsome man you describe. But all that is just the…oh, what's the word in your tongue…the show he put on for the outside world. That doesn't describe who he was deep down. What I want to know is- what was he _really_ like?"

Lorkin thought about it some more. He thought back to that autumnal day when Rothen had taken him to see the statue, when he had had his first proper description of his father. "Kind, apparently. And thoughtful, too. But scared- he was terrified his secret would come out, but even more scared of what might happen to the Guild. He was very loyal, loyal to a fault- well, that much should be obvious, seeing as he died for king and country."

Tyvara leaned slightly closer. Despite the heat, she still managed to smell amazing. "A good man then, by all accounts?"

"Hmm," Lorkin replied somewhat non-committedly. Seriously, how _did _she smell that good?!

"You were far away when I sat down…In fact, I think you still are. Where are you?" Tyvara tilted her head at him, like he was a puzzle to solve. She was right, he was still far away.

Rothen had said what he had needed to say to satisfy a small child who didn't have a fully fledged sense of death, of injustice, of loss.

But the memory of staring into the eyes of the statue had stayed with Lorkin for all these years. Whilst they were cold and lifeless, they were the closest that he was going to get to looking into the eyes which they were supposed to represent. And despite everything he no knew and understood, he had never been able to shake the thought that this was not the way things were supposed to be.

"I was in the past," he murmured. Tyvara seemed to realise he was deep in thought and didn't ask any more. But she didn't leave, and Lorkin was appreciative of her company. Maybe she knew he needed it.

Fathers are supposed to be there- to guide, to scold, to comfort and welcome home. And throughout his childhood, which had been happy and safe in every other respect, he had had to watch the fathers of his acquaintances do this for their children, in the knowledge that this was something he had been robbed of before he was born. Lorkin had thought that with childhood behind him and all the most important learning done, it might get easier. But it hadn't. In some ways, it had gotten worse.

This was not the way things were supposed to be. And that could never change.

It was like living in an endless night, when sun the never rose- could never rise, because it didn't exist.

For years, Lorkin had found himself, often in the darkest part of the night, listening for answers to questions he wouldn't, couldn't, ever get the answer to.

_Where are you?_

_Why aren't you here? _

_Why can't I talk to you?_

_Why did it have to be you?_

_Why does it have to be me?_

Maybe Lorkin was overly tired, or stressed, or maybe he so desperately wanted to hear an answer to his question his mind played tricks on him- or maybe it was none of those things, but in that moment, Lorkin heard a single word spoken inside his mind. It wasn't outside, Tyvara hadn't reacted. He knew it must be his own conscience, it wasn't like hearing the thoughts of another magician, but at the same time it _wasn't. _It was like the memory of someone's voice, but it was not the voice of anyone he knew. It spoke just one word.

_-Remember. _

**Dear people, I have abandoned you. I apologise. It has been something of a…well, difficult few weeks. To cut a long story short, I was assaulted rather badly at work a few weeks ago, ended up in A&E (yay for COVID-19 exposure), had to have stitches and have been recovering, physically and emotionally, ever since. I am feeling a lot better already, but I still have some way to go. I am back to the place where I can write, and that's something. I hope you're all keeping a lot better than me. Love to you all, Cece xoxo**


	12. They're Not Mirrors, You Know?

Chapter Twelve: They're Not Mirrors, You Know.

_Do I really see what's in her mind?_

_Each time I think I am close to knowing, she keeps on growing. _

Lord Regin looked at his daughter, and wondered at what point she had stopped being the little girl whom he had taken to birthday parties wearing a pretty dress and her hair tied back in ribbons, and had become the young woman who sat chatting away about nothing in particular in front of him at this very moment. It was probably the kind of ridiculous, whimsical thought every father has when his daughter returns from her honeymoon, but he allowed himself to indulge in it all the same. He was reminded of the conversation he had had with Sonea a few weeks before, and found that he still disagreed with her. He did not feel too young in the least, his children made him feel old these days. _Much_ too old for his liking.

Neva was the younger of his daughters and was, if possible, even more precocious than her older sister- she had had to be, in order to survive the torments Isabela had put her through in the time they had lived under the same roof- which hadn't been for quite some time now (thanks to whatever Gods there were out there). She had her mother's dark eyes and hair, and also her wicked sharp sense of humour, which she didn't always use as she should. She had captured the interest of a young man, of impeccable breeding and excellent taste, the heir to an ancient earldom no less, and the couple had been married within six months of meeting. Regin had wondered whether he should have allowed the liaison to go as quickly as he did, but given the rumours that reached even a father's delicate ears, he decided it wouldn't do to wait until it really was _too _late to avoid a scandal. As it was, they seemed to have done so, and now all he could do was hope that his daughter's ability to choose a suitable spouse was better than that of both her parents.

_And besides, the young man may not be the brightest star in the sky, but he is solid and clearly adores her. Maybe that's better than marrying someone who is intelligent, but clearly has no interest in you at all…_

"I don't believe you've been listening to me, Papa," Neva said, sounding more amused than annoyed. She leaned forward and put down her sumi cup, which was still almost full- she had not stopped for breath to drink it, though it was probably cold and tasteless now. "Where have you gone in that funny old head of yours?"

Regin felt a wave of guilt- the first role of any parent is to listen to their children. And he was the one who had dragged Neva away from her new husband to assuage his own loneliness, so he should do her the honour of paying attention to her (no matter how dull he found the subject matter). "Sorry, I was just remembering you when you were younger, and now you are a bride. You really have grown up, haven't you? Where did all the time go?" He chuckled as Neva rolled her eyes at him, clearly bored of the _when did you get so old?_ conversation that must have happened to her dozes of times over recent weeks. "Anyway, it sounds like you really did have the most extravagant trip possible- you had made me quite jealous, your mother and I did nothing like that- though I suppose the Guild wouldn't have allowed it at the time."

Indeed they wouldn't have. Regin found himself married a month after his graduation, less than two years after the attempted Ichani Invasion. The Guild was still in desperate need of baulking up their numbers, particularly those in the Warrior clan, as they feared an attack from another set of Ichani bandits might be imminent. Even with Sonea now deemed as right sided, and with the training of a new Black Magician underway, they alone would not be enough. Regin would not be enough either, but an extended trip abroad, even to celebrate joining houses with one's new wife, was out of the question. They had had to make do with a short trip to the family Weinar's estate in Elyne (where he had been expected to report to the Head of Warriors in Capia whilst there, not exactly setting a romantic mood).

_I was barely twenty when we married, just a boy myself. But then again, Neva is only just seventeen…_

"I suppose you've done well to indulge me in listening for so long- well, almost listening," his daughter winked. She tossed some of her long dark hair behind her shoulder, her new rings glinting on her fingers in the bright morning light. "So, tell me about you, what have you been doing whilst I have been away? I hear you've been spending quite a lot of time with Black Magician Sonea, that's quite the turn out for the books."

Regin felt a flash of irritation go through him, but he was careful to conceal it. "I suppose I have been, compared to the amount of time I spent with her before. But I have to ask; who told you that I have been working with her?" he asked, already knowing the answer. But still, he hoped.

_Don't say it. Please don't say it._

"Mama—" Neva answered immediately, then frowned and looked away, seeming to thinking through the details. "Well that's not quite true. Mama has been telling everyone that Sonea came to the house a month or so ago and that you are working on some secret project together. Several of those people whom she told then told me she made it sound all very important and all very mysterious. So, has she challenged you to another duel, or whatever you magicians call it?"

Regin allowed himself a dry laugh. "It's called a Challenge, and no, of course not- she is far too busy to keep up a childish grudge. And whilst I wouldn't call what we are doing a mysterious, or indeed necessarily important- it is a little… delicate, and I can't go into the details, not even with you, my sweet. Sorry." He gave her an apologetic smile. She gave a small pout, but didn't push him further- one thing they both knew that they shared was a stubborn nature, and she knew if he wasn't going to talk, nothing she could do would change that.

Still, he cursed Wynina under his breath. Really, did everything that happened in their house have to become the latest apple to drop from the social gossip tree? He had once, in the middle of a frightful battles of tongues, offered to put up a noticeboard for her to put all their news upon so she could save her voice- the family's income, the fights that they constantly had to break up between the girls, their activity (or lack of it) in the bedroom- it really would save you so much time, he had hissed at her. She had pretended to cry and had stormed off. That had been the first time she had tried to kill herself, after that particular blazing row. So he never said it again.

Taking a deep breath and deciding to that thought was best left where it had been; in a dark, dusty and unfrequented part of his mind, Regin watched as Nina's eyes went around the room, enjoying the way she still looked at it with childlike enjoyment. She had said before now that this front drawing room in her childhood home was her favourite in the entire house. Regin could easily understand that- the great windows out to the grand street beyond filled the room with light at the time in the morning, giving it a fresh and easy feel. He had to hand it to Wynina, she _had_ done well with this room.

After a few moments of quiet, Neva sighed contentedly, then turned back to him. "This has been lovely, just getting to sit and talk with you. It has been a while since I have been able to sit in here and just admire the view. The last time was just before the wedding- and it had so many people in I would have barely recognised it!"

He smiled at her, remembering that party. Goodness, how had his wife managed to cultivate quite so many friends? And more to the point, ho had she managed to _keep _so many?! He had managed to get her to cut the guest list length down to a reasonable number, but even then the room had been suffocatingly hot and airless- he and some of the other husbands had slipped outside for fresh air and not a few drinks…

But despite that irritating memory of this room, Regin was pleased to have caught his daughter in this mood- no jibes at her sister, or attempts to get more pin money from him. Perhaps he should have sent her to travel round the world a long time ago, then they would have had something of value to talk about.

Not for the first time, Regin felt a rush of disappointment to have not been able to send either of his daughters to the Guild. He had begged Wynina to have them tested- or Neva at least, as she was the younger of the two, but she had categorically refused, saying that when one had only daughters, the best that one could hope for was a good marriage and grandsons. Unless he was suggesting that they try to have more children? She had looked at him through with doe eyes through those long eye lashes of hers, and he did his best to pretend he hadn't really heard her properly. Regin had had no support from his family, and so, knowing he couldn't win, decided to drop the debate- another grave in his cemetery of lost hopes. Still, it meant that he was able to value the time he had with his children, at least when he had each of them alone, more highly.

"It has been a while," he replied. "And yes, it has been lovely. I feel like we haven't spoken, just us too, in quite some time. Perhaps since you got engaged."

She nodded, but there was a question in her expression. "True, and like I say I have really enjoyed it, but… why didn't we do this with Mama as well? Surely she would have liked to have seen me too. I have been away for over two months!"

Regin considered how to answer, then decided not to overdo it and simply shrugged. "No particular reason- I had some free time and wanted you to myself. I wanted to check you were happy, with your new life and everything that came with it, without you feeling you had to put on appearances for your mama."

She considered him carefully and smile widely- a genuine, happy, sweet smile which warmed his heart. "Well, of course I am happy! Blissfully so. Bennet really is the perfect match for me. I can't thank you enough for granting you permission." Then her expression changed, and, for the first time in Regin's memory, she chose her next words carefully. "But I suppose… I never see you and Mama together anymore. Is anything wrong?"

Regin leaned back and studied her carefully. "If there were, do you think I would discuss it with you?" As a frosty expression quickly stole over Neva's face, Regin realised quickly his words had been too harsh. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean that to come out as it did. What I meant was… anything that happens in our marriage isn't something to trouble you with." He leaned forward and softly stroked her cheek with the back of a finger. "You will quickly realise, my darling, that marriage is a complicated, and long, business, and that it's not necessarily a business you want to publish for the whole world to read about. Be careful what you chose to tell the world about your private life."

Neva didn't look satisfied, but she gave a little sigh and let the conversation drop. "Still, at least you had the sense not to invite Issy," she said, a new edge creeping into her voice.

It was Regin's turn to sigh. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair, pretending not to notice it was thinning. _Here she goes again_. "Neva…"

She spread her hands carelessly, in a way her mother would have told her was _not lady-like_. "I know, I know, you're going to say you don't want to hear it, but I still haven't forgiven her for that prank she tried to pull- at my reception, of all places! My _wedding reception, _Papa. You only get one of those! Well, at least out kind of people, do," she finished with a sniff.

Regin chose to ignore that last remark. "But she didn't manage to pull it off, did she? I stopped her before she managed to get hold of a light." _Just in time, the rascal…When will this end? But it's not like I can really lecture either one on the importance of not making unnecessary enemies. _

Neva reached forward and took his hand in her smaller one. "And for that I am very grateful, Papa, but it doesn't mean I have forgiven her intentions- just yet, at least."

He squeezed her hand in return. "All the same, try not to seek revenge. Rise above it and all that."

Neva raised an eyebrow at him. "You weren't a _rise above it _type when you were my age, and don't even try to deny it."

Regin laughed hollowly. "No, I wasn't. But I was a _beaten into submission _type by the time I was your age, and trust me, you don't want to end up as that type of person. Let's change the subject, shall we? Tell me about the house. Does anything need fixing?"

"What _is it _with men and fixing things?"

"We like fixing things. It helps us feel manly."

As much as she pretended to think his original question a silly one, it set her off on another long answer, letting him settle back and simply listen, rather than answer difficult questions or stop her from going on a tirade of abuse.

Do not be mistaken, Regin loved both of his daughters very much, and saw in them much he hoped one day to be proud of. But that didn't stop him worrying about the people they were _currently _turning out to be. He saw much that disturbed him, because much of it reminded him of himself. Their need to be best, their need for revenge. They might not be as bigoted as he had been against the lower classes, but once they decided they didn't like someone, nothing and no one could make them change their minds.

He had found it difficult to find anyone he was able to talk to about this- his family believed that parenting was simply a case of finding a good nurse. The Guild, as an institution, didn't particularly care how good its members were as parents, as long as they didn't do anything illegal. Regin had, however, with a serendipitous turn of events, had recently had a conversation with Rothen that had touched on this. Rothen- who had been Sonea's sole protector all those years ago when Regin had been her torturer. Rothen, who had been accused of such malicious deeds by Regin's own words. Funny how fate moves us, sometimes.

Rothen had given the conversation the same level of seriousness and importance as he did with every part of his life. He had nodded slowly and said, "they're not mirrors, you know- our children. They aren't an absolute reflection of who we are or how we brought them up. Particularly once they are grown, we can only say they are their own people, and we can only help guide them in the right direction necessarily. The worst thing a parent can do is try and pull a child too much in the direction we would have them go- they have to be given the choice to make their own mistakes- then help them pick up the pieces after."

Bad parent or good parent, it was too late to turn back the tide now. Isabela and Neva were grown, and, as Rothen had said, all Regin could do was help them make the best decisions that were available to them. Perhaps they would, eventually, learn from the cautionary tale of his childhood, and be able to treat people more softly in the future, once they themselves were older and had less time for grudges.

_That's one of the things about getting old- with less time between you and the inevitable, grudges seem less and less useful… _

**Hello, everyone! Firstly, thank you to everyone who messaged me after my last chapter wishing me well. I am starting to do a lot better now, but I still have some work to do before I can say I am 'trauma free' (luckily I work just in the right place to get help with that!) Anyway, as the world starts to slowly open up, I would strongly encourage you to keep staying safe. Follow whatever guidelines you have been given- just because active numbers of cases of COVID-19 are dropping doesn't mean we can get complacent! Sending love and stay safe! Cece xox**


	13. In Another Life

Chapter Thirteen: In Another Life

_And time_

_Is taking her sweet time erasing you. _

Sonea woke.

The room was not completely dark, but it was certainly not light yet either. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the inky half-light that told one to go back to sleep, that the day was not quite ready to be seen to yet. Clearly this was no time to get up, but _something_ had woken her. It did not seem to have been a physical sound, the world around her still seemed soft and at peace. It did not take her long to guess that the noise was much more likely to be internal than external. There were too many things going wrong in her in life right now for her to be able to get back to sleep.

She felt, rather than heard, the shift next to her in the bed, and she became aware of an arm that was loosely tossed over her under the bed sheets. There was a faint stirring noise, then the arm tightened its grip over her waist, and she was pulled into a close embrace. Her back was pressed against a warm, bare chest. Through their skin to skin connection, she could feel love, concern and desire echoing into her mind. She sighed contentedly, let her eyes close and enjoyed the intimacy of the sensation- being held like this, it was almost like the cares of the world did not exist anymore. Almost.

"You're thinking very loudly," a deep voice murmured sleepily into her ear, breaking the peaceful silence. Not that she minded. Warm breath tickled the back of her neck as her companion brushed her hair aside onto the pillow- he always complained that it was trying to suffocate him. "I can hear you from all the way over here."

Sonea shifted slightly in the embrace that held her to look over her shoulder, not that she could make out more than a very hazy figure. "I thought we made an agreement that you weren't going to read my thoughts," she said softly, reaching to playfully squeeze the arm around her.

"I didn't read them, I have always stuck to our agreement," the voice replied, and she felt the lightest of kisses placed at the top of her spine. Even after all this time, such a soft touch was enough to send a spark through her entire body. She wondered if he could tell. "It doesn't take a good husband to know that his wife being awake at this hour is not a good sign. But it does take a good husband to ask his wife what is troubling her at such a time. Would you tell me?"

The wife took in a breath, then turned so she could face her husband, and he allowed her movement. Sonea looked Akkarin in his eyes- she had expected them to seem sleepy and unfocused, but they were awake and looking back at her keenly in the dimness of the room, searching for an answer to his question. The interest, and concern, was clear on his face.

_What did I ever do to deserve _such_ a man?_

"You can probably already guess," she breathed, knowing he would understand her. There was not one part of her that after all these years he did not know. Indeed, it was the same for her- there was not one secret, not one fear that didn't lie exposed between them.

He nodded slowly, confirming her prediction. His expression came pained. "Lorkin." The single word fell from his lips like lead. He took a long, steading breath then drew closer to her, letting his forehead rest against her own. "It's torture, isn't it?" he breathed against her skin.

"It's the not knowing that's so unbearable." As the hopelessness of the situation fell on her again, Sonea automatically did what she had been making herself do for weeks now and tried to hold back the sting of tears she could feel behind her eyes. Then asked herself- _why? Why I am hiding myself, and from Akkarin of all people?_ So, she let herself break and the tears fell, and he didn't stop her as she quietly wept him his embrace. He did not stop her- in fact, he did not say anything. He did not have to, his simple presence was all she needed, methodically smoothing her hair and tracing spirals into the small of her back.

After a while, the tears slowed, and Sonea allowed herself to find comfort in the cocoon of warmth, sleepiness and love that their shared bed provided. Still he said nothing, also knowing that she needed to enjoy this simple space. Here, in Akkarin's arms, the world seemed like a much more reasonable place. Except where their son was concerned. Memories ebbed and flowed. Joy, guilt, pride and desperation all mingled together, bleeding into each other and rising together to the surface in a great mass, needing to be voiced.

"Do you remember," she began shakily, "When Lorkin was young, when he was always with us? We did not have to worry about him because we knew he was safe. Why did it have to change, and change so fast? Why do children have to grow up?"

"Because otherwise we would have to spend our entire life feeding them, changing them, putting them to bed and telling them off when they're naughty, and then no one would ever become parents," Akkarin joked quietly. She did not laugh, but she knew it was his way of giving her a serious answer in a way she could bear to hear. Then he pulled away from her slightly so he was looking in her eyes, stroking her jaw softly. "Do you also remember the conversations we had after we had put him to bed, of the dreams we had for him? We wanted him to be as happy as we were when we had those talks. We wanted him to find his place in the world. And we knew we wouldn't be able to keep him safe from all the terrors in the world forever."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "When we talked, we never talked about it going like this. Those dreams we came up with, they never went along these lines, and you know that." She realised her words had come out sounding more angry than she had meant them to, and was sorry for it.

He was quiet for a few moments. When he did speak, he did so slowly, carefully. "Sonea, if I could go back and change everything so our son didn't have this happen to him- or if I could go and take his place, you know I would. But I cannot. For now, we must accept that Dannyl, Osen and whoever else is doing their best to bring him back. I know it is hard, but we must try and trust that the Guild knows what it is doing."

It was then that Sonea noticed that Akkarin looked tired- not the kind of tired look one has when one has just woken up, but the look of one that has a weight on their mind. It probably was not helped by the fact he wasn't as young as he used to be. She pushed some hair out of his eyes- she rather liked the element of grey to it these days, even if he did not- she thought it made him look distinguished, statesmanlike.

"The situation with rogue magician is bothering you, isn't it?"

He frowned, but didn't look away as he nodded silently. She let a finger trail across his cheek, enjoying the slight roughness of the stubble that grew there. She had said once, when she had had a little too much to drink, that she rather liked it, and asked if he would keep it for her. He had raised a curious eyebrow at her, but he had not got rid of it since. "Does it feel like it did before? With me?" she asked.

He considered, but shook his head. "No- with you, it was obvious that it was a beginner at work- there was no skill, no form to the magic I sensed." He gave her a crooked smile. "No offence meant, of course."

She smiled back, remembering with humour her first vague attempts at magic- Control came so easily now that she could not understand how she hadn't been able to master it at first. "But this time, you feel there is more ability there?"

He sighed, running a hand over his face. He rolled onto his back slightly so he was addressing the dark ceiling above them. "A lot more. More than you would see in the average graduated magician, let alone a novice. The burning question I have going around my mind is _where_ did she learn it? She can't be from the Allied Lands, no one would have taught her secretly, they know that I can sense it when they do."

"Alright, alright, no need to rub your superior powers in," she said, kicking him gently in the shin with her foot. It was her turn to try to lighten the mood with gentle humour.

Akkarin looked at her fondly, with that half smile and crooked eyebrow she loved so well. What she should do to have him look like that more often these days. "You know I'd give it all up in a heartbeat for a life as a normal magician if I could"

She pushed herself closer so she could lean her arms on his chest and look down at him. Her hair fell like a curtain around them, hiding them from the rest of the world. "But if you had that normal magician life right now, as you put it, it means you wouldn't have met me."

He took a lock of her hair and curled it around his finger, like he had done twenty years ago, the night they had first shared a bed together, though it was longer now. "I hadn't thought about it like that, but I suppose that's very true. I withdraw my previous statement. Satisfied?"

She pecked him on the nose. "Yes."

Then she realised she very far from satisfied, and the heaviness of life's burdens fell on her again. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat. He put an arm around her shoulders and held her under his chin.

"Sonea, it's not even dawn outside. There's absolutely nothing we can do about either of these problems at this precise moment. The best thing we can do is rest so we are most prepared to face the day." He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed her fingers, the moment charged with a quiet, loving intimacy. "Sleep, dearest one, let the morning bring what it will and we will face it together."

For a few minutes, they lay together in silence, listening to the sounds of their breathing go in and out of time with each other. Birds began to chatter outside, and even a pair of fast-paced footsteps could be heard racing past outside. Probably the first of the servants, hurrying to do a magician's bidding. It was then Sonea gave an irritable sigh. "I can't sleep."

Akkarin gave a low chuckle and slowly ran his foot up her leg, from ankle to thigh. She held in what would have been a breathy sigh. "Oh, really? Is that my cue?"

She looked up at him innocently. "I am sure I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

"Of course not, my lady. But, as ever, I am yours to command."

Despite everything, she allowed herself to laugh as he grasped her waist and gently pulled her underneath him. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lowered his head to hers so he could kiss her deeply, reverently.

Sonea woke.

The room was completely dark. It must still be the middle of the night. Sonea felt the pain of loss and grief drop onto her, as sharp as ice water. She sat up and rubbed her eyes with a shaky sigh. She felt a single tear fall before quickly brushing it away and banishing any others that might be intent on following it, feeling irritated at herself that she had let herself show such weakness. There was no point to all that, not anymore. Not when there was not someone to hold her as she did so.

She should not be still feeling like this. She should be feeling better. She should be stronger. Lots of people had lost loved ones and did not still dream about them twenty years later. _What is wrong with me?!_

She lay back down and tried to use the relaxation exercises Rothen had used when he had taught her mental communication to help slow her thoughts, but they did not work for her this night. Her mind was far too awake. It was full of waking dreams of what could have been, what should have happened, in another life. She accepted the inevitably of a bad night's sleep and simply allowed her mind to drift where it wanted to.

At least the nightmares of the terrors she had been through had all but stopped now, for which she was very grateful. But even after two decades, even though she had used every trick she could think of to stop them, dreams continued to haunt her- dreams so real and good they were almost worse than the nightmares they had replaced. But then they would be gone when the sun rose, and nothing and no one could bring them back. All that was left of them was a grave on a hill and a young man many hundreds of miles away.

For the countless time, Sonea told herself sternly that there was no we, there was no us, there was no together. That fact never got any easier to accept.

**Damn, I made myself feel things writing this! Stay safe, everyone :) Cece xox**


	14. Ghosts

Chapter Fourteen: Ghosts

_I wear the chains I forged in life._

_I made it link by link, and yard by yard._

_I girded it on of my own free will_

_And of my own free will I wore it. _

Ghosts can take many forms. One does not have to believe in the occult to experience them. A ghost can be a passing thought, a hazy memory, an unwanted reminder of a bygone age. We all have ghosts in our houses, skeletons in our closests, because we all have past experiences that we wish we could lock away forever. We all have chapters we wish we could just pull from the books of our lives. We all have people who will haunt us until we die, never to be forgotten.

For Balkan, his ghost was a man who had been frozen in time in his early thirties- young and vibrant, but also brooding and mysterious. Many High Lords had come before Balkan, but no other came to visit him. Because, every so often, and you can turn your nose up at this if you want, Balkan thought he caught a glimpse of his predecessor- standing in the corners of rooms, turning out of sight through the university's maze of corridors. He could never shake the feeling that he was being watched, scrutinised, judged, by the man he had once mentored and championed.

_Are you sure you want to do that, Balkan?_

_That's not something I would have done, you know…_

_If I had been given the opportunity, I would have done better at this than you. _

So, when the silence was deafening and the ghosts were closing in, Balkan had taken to drinking. To be fair, Balkan had always been fond of a drink, not that he had let many people know that over the years. Even as a young man in his early days as a graduate magician, he had been careful not to drink too much, knowing that someday, a long time from now, he was going to need his peers to remember him as a dignified, intelligent man, and not as a young scallywag, lying in a ditch singing a rude song about wheelbarrows.

Not that he knew any rude songs about wheelbarrows.

But when he was alone, as he often was these days, Balkan liked to indulge himself. After all, he had inherited a drinks cabinet that was worthy of the title, so he thought he might as well put it to some good use. As he poured himself his third glass of the evening, he looked around the guest room, that was now gentle spinning in a pleasant sort of way. This space had not always been like this, he remembered. If you had been invited to the High Lord's residence thirty years ago, you would have entered an elegant entry space, perfect for holding soirees and diplomatic engagements, designed to be filled of people and light and laughter. But Balkan's predecessor had appeared to see such gatherings as beneath him, and so had converted the space into a small, but cosy, guestroom, hiding the two great stairways behind doors. It would have suited him much better.

_But then again, _Balkan mused, _did it? It wasn't like Akkarin was exactly a homebody, or indeed a family man. But perhaps he was better one on one…_

Then Balkan remembered Lorlen, and felt an echo of regret at the late Administrator's demise. He had been such a good man (and there was no need for ethical pondering over his goodness either, unlike some people Balkan could mention). As the regret faded, he also felt a guilty tinge of disappointment. Though he could not fault Osen for his diligence to his role, which he had stoically and quietly taken over from his old master without brooking a single argument, Balkan had never gained the close working relationship that Akkarin and Lorlen had so clearly shared. Then again, those two had been friends since their very first day at the university and were only a few months apart in age, whereas Osen and Balkan had only got to know each other as more than passing colleagues after the attempted Ichani Invasion, and there was at least a good decade between them in age. Still, it was yet another thing to be jealous of that the old High Lord had and the new High Lord did not.

Not that Balkan was jealous of a dead man. Good grief, no.

Without thinking particularly clearly about what he was doing, Balkan left the guestroom and went up to the first floor by the eastern stairway. He went up to the second floor and slowly made his way down the hallway. For the first time in a while, he took stock of the line of paintings that graced the walls.

The eyes of so many ghosts of High Lords pasts stared at him. Watching, waiting, predicting what his next moves was going to be. The ones closest to him on the east side of the hallway were the oldest- these paintings were now five hundred years old, showing a Guild of a completely different age. But today, Balkan was particularly interested in those craggy faced men. He headed to the west side, to the last painting on the wall.

It was small, but probably the most beautifully finished. In it, a young man with traditionally dark Kyralian eyes and hair sat in the office that was just one floor above Balkan's head. A map of the Allied Lands was open in front of him, but his finger was delicately placed over Sachaka. Balkan always thought that detail was a little… much. The man was looking out of the painting as if his name had just been called. His famous dark gaze, that looked as if it could snatch even the most well-hidden secrets out of a soul, watched Balkan carefully.

Under the painting, on the wood that was covered in a delicate gold filigree, was a simple description. _High Lord Akkarin, of the Family Delvon, House Velan, the first of his name. The man who saved a nation. _

It should be noted that this painting was not the original- Balkan had been gifted a copy to add to the official collection of the High Lord's Residence (which he had had to accept, it would have been unbelievably rude not to, however much he may have wanted to). Not, this was a copy of a much larger, much grander portrait that hung in the ancient family seat of Delvons in the country. The death of their son and heir had, apparently, disturbed Lord and Lady Delvon greatly, not that they were able to show it outwardly. The greatest sign of distress they had shown for the death of their son was the commissioning of a painting to hang above the fireplace in the dining room of their home, to keep the ghost of Akkarin with them.

Balkan hadn't been brave enough to ask, at the time of Akkarin's death, how his family felt about him, and if was far too late now. By all accounts, he had been something of a trial to them since adolescence. He had been brighter than his father and eluded his mother's attempts at marriage. When he became High Lord and had pledged to make the Guild his Family and House, he had taken that pledge very seriously. He was civil with them, nothing more than that- and had certainly done nothing to further their already impressive standing in Kyralian society.

And then he had gone and made himself a martyr and the father of an illegitimate child at around the same time. And if Balkan hadn't been brave enough to ask the Delvons about their son, he certainly wasn't brave enough to ask them about their grandson.

He himself had been quite startled by the revelation- Balkan remembered when Osen had come to him, twenty one years ago, and had told him in a quiet measured tone that the line of Delvon wasn't quite as finished as they had supposed. He had chocked on his wine at the prospect.

Oh, Lorkin. He was proving to be as difficult as his father.

But Osen and Dannyl seemed to have a good grip on the situation- or as good as was possible at this juncture. Sonea seemed to be tempered- for the time being at least, and he must assume that Rothen was responsible for that. Balkan shuddered to think what she would do if she decided to go rogue on them. But, could anyone blame her? She had raised that boy on her own, she wasn't about to suffer any fools as far as Lorkin was concerned. That was the price one paid for parenthood, Balkan supposed.

Balkan had never had the chance to be a father. It was a fact that sometimes concerned him, but then he would remind himself he would never have changed anything in his career to get to the point where he was now, and romance had never had much of a look in. Osen had once told him that Lorlen and Akkarin had referred to the Guild as their "little family". Balkan had thought at the time that was a very odd sort of joke to have, but then as time went on, it made more and more sense. The Guild was like a gaggle of children, in desperate need of herding and guidance- but Balkan didn't think it made him feel like a father, more like a school master. Ironically, his days as a teacher of Warrior Skills had felt more like parenting at times than this. And of all the 'children' he had had, Akkarin had certainly been one of the favourites.

_Where did it all go so wrong? _It was a question Balkan had asked himself many times over the years. There were so many points where everything could have been turned around and made better. So many times. He remembered going to the Sachakan border. Akkarin had been apoplectic with rage. Sonea had been…resigned.

_Did I notice then, what was happening between them? _Balkan snorted softly to himself- of course he hadn't. He was not well versed in the language of love. But, he had to surmise, the fact that Akkarin had tried to fall on his sword for her, _and _the fact that she hadn't let him, should have told everyone everything they needed to know.

Balkan remembered when he _did _know, as an absolute certain.

It was after Rothen had come to see the Higher Magicians, and had raised strong concerns about Sonea's will to live. They had agreed he should be the one to speak to her, seeing as that was his role now. He had not being looking forward to it, but had had no idea how bad it was going to be.

_Rothen went to open the main door to his rooms, but his hand stopped half-way to the handle, and sighed. "Look, Balkan, you should know- Sonea really, really, isn't herself," he had said in a low voice. He looked painfully worried, his face ashen and drawn. "I am actually not really sure where she is right now. I've bargained ten minutes out of her, and that's your lot."_

_Balkan was disappointed by this news. Sonea was their only hope against a terrible enemy whose intentions were unknown- he needed her strong. "I thought she was doing a little better than she had been doing before?"_

_Rothen nodded. "She was, until a few days ago. She's retreated into herself again since then."_

_"What happened?"_

_"I don't know."_

_Balkan couldn't accept that answer. "Rothen-"_

_"I don't have access to every thought that goes through her head," the alchemist snapped, an uncharacteristic irritation biting at his words. "And even if I did, I wouldn't necessarily share them with you. You're not exactly her favourite person right now." he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I have a feeling my son knows what is going on with this latest turn, I will see if he will discuss it with me. Will that do?"_

_It wasn't, but Balkan he had no choice but to bite his tongue. "Fine."_

_"Fine. Are you ready? This isn't going to be pleasant."_

_Balkan nodded. Rothen gave him one last searching look, then opened the door. _

_At first, it appeared that the neat Guest room was empty. Then, after scanning the room, it became apparent that a small figure was sitting on the window ledge on the far window. A thin lace covering stopped the outside world seeing in, but gave the figure small gaps with which to look at the outside world. _

"_Sonea, Balkan is here," Rothen said quietly. _

_The figure didn't move, didn't appear to have even noticed them. Rothen moved over to her, and Balkan followed at a careful distance. _

_Rothen went up to her and gently touched her shoulder. "Sonea, come back to me." Suddenly, the figure took in a deep breath and looked up. Rothen smiled at her and ran a hand over her hair. "Balkan's here, as we talked about. He knows he's got ten minutes."_

_Then the figure turned to look in Balkan's direction, and he had to hold back the gasp.  
__  
"Sonea," he stated, trying to hide his horror at how he found her. Ashen, thin, broken. She was staring at something far beyond his vision, a slight look of disbelief in her eyes. Balkan glanced at Rothen. Rothen gave a slight shrug in response- _I did try to warn you_._

_"I… I really don't know what to say to you, Sonea," he said lamely. All the words he had carefully found were crushed under his shock at how he found her. "I would offer our sincerest apologies, but the word wouldn't cover our feelings well enough."  
_

_She held his gaze critically, a stare she would, one day, become famous for. It was a look of quiet, but severe, intent. "_Our_ feelings?" she said, head cocking to one side. Her voice was hollow and faint._

_"The Higher Magicians, I mean," he said._

_She nodded slowly, the lightest of quirks at one side of her mouth. "Oh, of course. I should have realised you speak for them now. So, if you're not going to offer sincere apologies, what is it exactly that you want, High Lord?" He blinked at her. She stared coolly back. "Well, that is your title now, is it not?"_

_He decided it was best not to argue. "It's...still being finalised."_

_"Then I am sure you have many more important things to be doing than talking me."_

_Balkan stepped forward, getting into a better space to converse with her. "No, the complete opposite. Right now, you are the most important person in the entire Guild. We want you back, Sonea. We need you back. We…we got it wrong."_

_"This is just occurring to you." That gaze of hers, coupled with her low, dead voice, really was quite disconcerting.  
_

"_No, it was clear not long after you left. But I know that I needed to acknowledge it to you. Now, I know the last thing you want to talk about is the future, but the thing is, I need you to. You are the one person I know who can fight of Ichani."_

"_Actually you know another, but he just so happens to be dead."_

_In the corner of his eye, Balkan saw Rothen wince. "Of course, you're right," he replied slowly. "I did know Akkarin- I knew him to be an honourable, loyal man who, though spurned by his family and home, gave the ultimate sacrifice for us. That's a debt we will never repay. History will be kind to both of you, I am sure."_

"_History?" Sonea let out a barking sound that might have been a laugh. "Why should I care about history? History got us where we all are- your history was revisionist and, ultimately, lethal. I've been thinking a lot over the last few months- if something is written down, does that make it true?"_

_Balkan had nothing to say to that. He decided not to try and answer her question "The basic fact remains, Sonea," he continued softly, "that we may still be in terrible danger, all of us. And only you can help us- I hate to say it, for your sake, but it is true. I know you have no reason to do anything for us without some sort of… bargain being struck, so I am here to negotiate. Now—" _

_"I don't care." The words were soft, but came from a place of cold disinterest._

_"Now, Sonea-" Rothen intervened._

_She rounded on him this time. "No, Rothen, I'm not being rude. Write whatever contract you want, make the cell as small as you like. I just cannot bring myself to care. Nothing matters anymore. If you really insist on doing this negotiation, my Lord, talk to Rothen, but please just leave me alone." With that, she got up and gave a poor attempt at a bow, but swayed as she did so. Then walked to smaller bedroom and clicked the door shut._

_Silence filled the space. Balkan looked at Rothen, who appeared resigned. _

"_Well then, Rothen. Let's negotiate terms."_

None of this should matter now, anyway. It was over and done with- the chapter of the book ended.

But… it wasn't. And the abduction of Lorkin was proof of that- Sachaka was not done with the Guild- or at least one particular family within it.

"You know I really hate you," Balkan addressed to the painting, only the slightest of slurs impacting his usually perfect diction. "I hate the fact that you will always be young, and fearless, and _right_. Gods, I hate the fact that you were right. I hate the fact that, no matter what I do, I will be a failure next to you." He glared at the painting, but the steely eyes looked back at him impassively. Balkan sighed and leaned against the wall. "But mostly I hate the fact that I miss you. I miss not knowing what else you could have achieved. You really could have been something, Akkarin, without needing to be a martyr as well."

The ghosts were beautiful, but terrible, in this house.

**Dear readers, I have been away, as you may have noticed. I have been working on myself for the past month- coming to some hard truths, recuperating my loses from recent months and basically trying to recover. In aid of that, I have started singing again! Find me singing sad songs here... ** watch?v=K7tURGMyF3A


	15. Love Is Strange

Chapter Fifteen: Love is Strange.

Once you get it,  
You never want to quit.  
After you've had it,  
You're in an awful fix.

When Lorkin had been but a roguish youth (or at least more of a roguish youth than he was now, he hadn't exactly grown out of his boyhood yet), he had believed that he would be able to get whatever he wanted, as long as he worked hard enough for it. Making friends is simply a case of making yourself good company. Surely getting good grades is down to sheer will and determination. And, of course, girls are easily caught with charm and confidence. There was not anything, he had thought, you could not get if you put your mind to the task firmly enough.

But then, he had met Beriya.

Oh, Beriya, were her sweet voice and beautiful eyes. She had come along and removed him of such foolish notions, with a solitary syllable, spoken in that sweet, voice- "no". It had been a hard lesson, but a necessary one, and it had humbled Lorkin- which perhaps had been to his benefit, all things considered. As it turned out, being good company, determined, charming and confident is not enough to get you everything you want in life. Sometimes the roll of the dice will not be in your favour, and there's nothing you can do to prevent the outcome.

His mother had said something along those lines, though perhaps in a gentler tone, as he had hidden under the bed sheets in her rooms and refused to come out after Beriya had taken his young, unblemished heart and given it its first romantic bruising. _You will survive, _she had said softly to the tiny amount of his head that she was able to see, rubbing his back softly. _We've survived worse, you and I. _He had survived, of course, but he had not been the same after. None of us ever are, after we have learnt just how cruel and unfeeling life can be- for no apparent reason.

Since that time, Lorkin had been avoiding romance like it was a contagious illness. Do not mistake me, he had had his fun, like many young men his age- but long nights and illicit affairs do not in any way have to mean love- in fact, sometimes they require its complete absence in order to be at all satisfactory.

_Love_.

That word, the implications it now brought- it all seemed too big, too powerful, and too easy to lose. The greatest stories of true, genuine love Lorkin knew of were all over now, because they always seemed to become stories of survival. Surviving heartbreak, surviving loss. Love should not be something one had to _survive… _surely?It should be something to bathe in, to celebrate, to find glory and strength in. No, it was all too much to be thrust upon him.

It also felt like a huge responsibility. Could he ever have a love so great he would be willing to _die _for it? And when that love is gone, is it ever really gone? Does it every truly die? Love, he realised, is very strange. Its definition meant that beauty and cruelty were all wrapped up together in a symbiotic mess- to destroy one part was to destroy the whole.

He realised this all again now, almost like he hadn't thought about it hundreds of times before, as he quietly sat and watched Tyvara from afar. Those eyes, that smile, the way she walked, it was all like a book he had read before, and he did not like the ending. He just wanted someone to _ask. _But then he remembered that even if he was not being held against his will (which he very, very much was), there was no one in his life to ask. He loved Rothen dearly, but couldn't imagine having such a conversation with him. His friends were less interested in love and the bit that came before. He had no siblings. And the one person that every other only son would go to was…gone.

_Why are you gone? Why?!_

That left his mother. Lorkin had often wondered desperately what his mother's feelings were on so many aspects of love, her story would have made her opinions more informative than most, but had never been nearly brave enough to ask. He had sometimes watched her doing some everyday task- perhaps reading a book, writing a note, or speaking to another magician, and suddenly, out of the blue, felt a mad urge to ask her- _do she still love him?_ _Do you think about the fact that he had died, at least in part, for you? Do you wonder whether it was right to move on, and be happy with someone else? And if it is, does what happened with my father still mean anything?_

Lorkin had had reason enough to want to ask such questions, as there had been three occasions in his life before he had graduated when a man had entered his mother's life. And each time, a disquiet had stolen over him like an unrelenting winter chill. He had never known the extent to which they had… courted, shall we say, and quite frankly he did not want to know. It did not really matter, to be perfectly honest. It was not the physical contact that perturbed him, even if the thought did make him cringe. It was not even a feeling of not being the most important thing to her- Lorkin had always known exactly where he stood with his mother. No, it was more the idea that… could you ever love again, when you had loved that deeply? Had been loved that deeply? And even if you could… _should you? _

_And where does that leave me?_

It should be said at this point that Sonea had always been careful- Lorkin had wisdom enough to know that- or at least now he did, looking back. She had never let any man cross paths with him, and she always put him first. She was a mother, first and foremost, that was obvious for anyone to see. If there were rumours, she was upfront and honest with him, knowing that he valued truth and frankness. He had always known, if he had asked her to, she would put an end to the relationship the very same day. Her loyalties were as immovable as iron.

But even when there weren't rumours going around the university dining hall, and there were no signs of a man slipping in and out of their rooms in the small hours, Lorkin always knew when _something_ was going on, no matter how small that 'something' was, because Sonea would…oh, she was just _different _when she was being courted. She would smile more widely, laugh more loudly. The world around her seemed brighter and fuller, despite the darkness of her robes. And in the silence of his heart, Lorkin felt an odd sense of betrayal, both on behalf of himself and his father, as strange as that sounds.

He always had the decency to feel guilty about such feelings- he knew it was far from his place to have an opinion about what his mother chose to do with her own heart, but as well as that feeling of betrayal, Lorkin always felt a slight shiver of concern. He worried about what would happen if it didn't work out, and she was left broken as she once had been. He worried about what the rest of the Guild would say and do if they decided to make such a liaison official. He worried his mother would put the past behind her, forgetting any love she bore for the man who had slipped away. That he would become an interesting memory, and nothing more than that.

_And if she can move on from him, _he had lain awake in his room in the Novices' Quarters thinking, _maybe she will move on from me. She puts me first now, but will that always be the case? What if she has more children? She is young enough- what would happen to me then?_

The last time they had all been round this particular cycle… that last time had been different. Lorkin had been that bit older and that bit more aware. There had been more slamming doors and answering back than before. There had been more awkward silences, worried looks on his mother's face, and conversations with Rothen that Lorkin knew he wasn't supposed to know about, but of course he did. Sixteen year old boys know everything.

It wasn't long after the first hushed whispers had gone around that the rumour changed quite suddenly.

_She's shown him the door- honestly, yet another one! _

_How many notches are on that particular bedpost now?_

_Apparently he 'just couldn't compare'. To be fair, there's a lot to live up to. _

_She should consider herself lucky to get anyone interested in her- she's damaged goods- that's what my mama says._

After that last time, his mother had never, to his knowledge, even entered another relationship. As far as he was aware, she hadn't even considered another one. Once Lorkin was studying in the university, she had the perfect excuse to step up the amount of work she was doing in the city, focus on being the best healer she could possibly be, and enjoy the freedom that being the parent of an adult brings. But it could have also been an opportunity to find a match- though as far as Lorkin could tell, she really didn't appear to be interested anymore. Perhaps the rumours, though terrible, were true- maybe no one else did compare.

No matter that he didn't know the full details, Lorkin always wondered whether it was his fault she was alone. Sometimes he wondered if she resented him for that, or if she was content. He just wanted her to be happy because oh, Lorkin loved his mother. He loved her so much. She had been everything to him, truly everything. But he knew it wasn't on him to dictate the terms of her happiness.

As I said before, it is true that Lorkin had never asked Sonea directly about romance. However, one time when he was ten and in a particular precocious mood, he had got close_. _

"_Mama," he had said as she was putting him to bed, after reading him a story about a magician that had searched over the lands to find his one true love, "Do you think there is one person for everybody?"_

_She had looked almost amused. "Aren't you a little young to be worrying about such things?" But, good mother as she was, she had considered the question. She pursed her lips, then looked at him carefully. "The tricky thing is if I say yes, then that means I will have to believe I have had my one- and that seems like very sad sort of belief to have. Besides, if distance and timing had been different, perhaps I would never have…" she trailed off and frowned._

_He had leaned forward, intrigued. "Never what?"_

_Sonea had seemed lost in her thoughts for a while, then shook her head, smiling softly. "Never mind."_

"_What, Mama?" He was really, really intrigued now._

"_Never mind! Don't be so nosey. Time for bed." She had poked him playfully in the ribs and made him giggle, and the conversation had been lost. _

Back in the present, Lorkin blinked as he realised that the group was starting to move on. Whistles were going up, and torches were being lit. He hauled himself to his feet and started to trudge alongside them. Really, to be thinking of romance at such a time was quite ridiculous. But then, up ahead, he saw Tyvara walking with some of the leaders of the group, her stride hitting its usual sensual gait, and the whole cycle of his thoughts started again.

Love is really, really strange.

**Good people, I haven't forgotten you! Life has simply been busy- I have recently changed jobs and such, which has taken up a lot of my time. This isn't my best chapter, but I wanted to give you something. I hope you're all staying safe! See you back here soon, I promise xox**


	16. If I Didn't Care

Chapter Sixteen: If I Didn't Care

_If I didn't care more than words can say__  
__If I didn't care, would I feel this way?__  
__If this isn't love then why do I thrill?__  
__And what makes my head go 'round and 'round__  
__While my heart stands still?_

It was so late when the Guild carriage finally stopped that the oil lamps in the street beyond were only just alight. Regin sighed, running a hand over his face wearily. A part of him was pleased to be helping with the secret task of finding Imardin's latest rogue, it was the kind of thing he had been expecting to do when he became a warrior but had had very few opportunities to do. The other part of him wished it could be done at a more sociable hour. As it was, he would probably only get three or four hours sleep before he had to teach an early class in the morning- a group of particularly excitable second years, a very joyous prospect. Still, there was some good to arriving home at such an hour- Wynina was sure to have retired by now, so no snarky comments awaited him.

He alighted the carriage and murmured a word of thanks to the driver before slowly climbing up the steps of his home. The windows were all dark, but Regin was pleased to find the front door still open. He slipped inside and quietly locked the door behind him. Even as he tried to move the bolt as silently as possible, it made what appeared to him to be a very loud clunk through the echoing space of the grand entrance room before him.

Regin had been asked more than once why he chose to live in the city. His first response was always to tell such gossips that it was none of their business and to kindly bother someone else, but he knew that such a retort would only make their tongues wag all the quicker. So, he had always said it was because they wanted the space, particularly with a growing family. Plus, he had said with a forced laugh, Nina likes to throw parties. You can't exactly do that in the Magicians' Quarters.

Most of the time, living away from the Guild had served his purposes well. He felt the prying eyes of the Guild and the Houses could be kept away- to a certain extent, at least. Even though his wife regularly invited what appeared to be half of Imardin's upper classes into his home on a regular basis, at least he had the ability to shut the door on the at them once it was all over. In the Guild, ears cover the walls.

Regin pulled a globe light into existence. He rubbed the back of his neck methodically as he made his way to the fire that was dying in the grate. Whilst he didn't need a fire to warm himself, he always found something comforting in the gentle crackling of a heart fire- and, of course, his wife and daughters had made use of it when he hadn't been around to warm the room with magic. He smiled as fond memories of his daughters, who had once been friends, playing happily in front of the fire on cold winter nights rose to the front of his mind. The fire place looked quite different now, he mused. Then he took in the empty wine bottle that stood on the low table between the chairs.

And then the two wine glasses. Both half filled.

It took a couple of seconds for the realisation to sink in. Then Regin used a word that his mother would have made him drink soapy water for using. He closed his eyes and took in three steadying breaths, like he taught his novices to do before starting a bout. He needed to remain calm.

Quietly, he made his way up the staircase, his globe light floating before him. Despite himself, his heart was beating faster. In the silence of his heart, he made a quiet prayer to whatever Gods there were that there was another reason for the second wine glass. Not the normal reason, just for once.

_Please…not again. _

The gallery above was shrouded in darkness. Suddenly, everything seemed _too _quiet. Regin suddenly realised he hadn't seen a single servant- surely someone normally greeted him when he came home, no matter what the hour? No, it was almost like they were all deliberately keeping a low profile.

_As if they were trying to avoid seeing or hearing something they shouldn't. _

Not that he blamed them, of course. He probably would have done the exact same thing in their position.

Regin slowly approached to the double doors of the Master bedroom. He hadn't slept in there in many a year, but it was, ostensibly, his bedroom- the most personal room in anyone's home. All our secrets, all our fears, all our deepest thoughts, emotions and desires- we let them lose in our bedrooms, because it's only a room we share with people that we love. Or it ought to be. Regin leaned close to the ornate wood, took in a deep breath of the deep fragrance it still held after all these years- and listened.

He didn't have to wait long before he heard a noise- a very distinct, very feminine giggle. A sound that had set his teeth on edge for a decade. A few moments of silence followed, then another giggle. This was followed by a voice, deep and sonorous- certainly not his wife's voice. A badly stifled groan followed this, with the sound of sheets moving against each other.

Regin decided at this point he had heard enough. With a flexing of his will, he sent magic to the door to manipulate the lock, then discovered with no small amount of surprise that the bolt wasn't in place. He rolled his eyes and threw open both doors with a loud bang. He made his globe light bigger and brighter and sent it into the room, under the canopy of the four-poster bed. _His_ four-poster bed.

"You could at least have locked the door, you know, darling," he said in a voice which dripped with sardonic humour. "That way we could all at least _pretend_ this wasn't happening."

The couple in the bed were desperately attempting to cover themselves up as he spoke. Wynina was flushed and breathless, though whether that was from her husband's sudden entrance or her earlier exploits, Regin really couldn't say. He would consider her later, he decided. He turned his attention to the man, who had just managed to get the bedsheet over his hips. Regin couldn't say he recognised him- he didn't appear to be a regular at Wynina's soirees- he was probably a regular at the awful parties one of Wynina's friends held- where they filled bathtubs full of wine and played ridiculously expensive gambling games until dawn.

The first thing that struck Regin about this man was just how _young _he was- barely twenty-one or two, by the look of him. _You're in the prime of youth, those wonderful years I would pay anything to redo and get right this time, and you're happy to be the trophy sidepiece of _this _woman? _He was all cheek bones and abdominal muscles, Wynina's type to the letter. He was looking at Regin with wide-eyed horror, and Regin almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"My lord, I –" the man began, his voice surprisingly deep for his youth. Perhaps another characteristic that had drawn Wynina in.

Regin held up a hand. "Whatever excuse you have, save it. You're really not worth my time." With his will, he pulled back the covers of the bed, exposing the man, who let out a high-pitched noise of surprise. _Now you know exactly how I feel. _ "You can go now. And if I see your face again, you can be sure it will be an even more excruciating experience than this one."

"Yes, my lord." The man had grabbed his clothes and all but dragged them on- buttons were left undone, belt left unclasped. He grabbed his shoes and ran out the door before he had put them on. His bare feet could be heard pounding down the gallery. It might have been funny, if it had been the first time.

For the first time, Regin turned his full attention to his wife. Wynina had pulled the bed sheets up around her protectively, but Regin could tell she was sitting with her knees up to her chin, the way their girls used to when they were being chastised. She was refusing to look at him, like she was trying to decide between being rebellious or contrite. He wasn't prepared to wait for her to decide. He considered her for a while, choosing his words carefully, before crossing his arms over his chest and deciding that he had had _enough._

"Three months ago, I made you an ultimatum," he said softly. "In this room, at a similar hour, under very similar circumstances. Do you remember that conversation?"

She didn't respond, but her cheeks got redder. Angry or embarrassed, it still wasn't clear.

"I told you I thought our marriage was important, if not for our sakes, for the sake of our families and our daughters. But I said if I found you with another man, yet again, that clearly our relationship wasn't important enough to salvage, and we would be finished." He desperately wanted to step closer to the bed, to demand that she looked at him, but he knew he had to play this conversation carefully- or it could all end very badly for him. "Did you not think me a man of my word when I said that? Did you not think that I would do exactly what I said I would do? Of the pair of us, I think we can agree I am the trustworthy one. And believe me when I say, I meant every word."

She finally looked at him. Her eyes were wide. "What?" It was barely more than a whisper.

He almost chuckled at the look of disbelief on her face. "We're done, Nina. You can't say I haven't been reasonable, or even understanding. We were never a love match, we both knew that, but you haven't even _tried _to make this work. And I will not tolerate being made a cuckhold in my own bed. I will not tolerate the dishonour you bring upon this house any longer." He took a deep breath. "You can stay the night, but in the morning, I want you out. You are no longer welcome."

"Regin, please- you know me. You know none of… _this_ actually means anything to me!" She gestured towards her naked body as she said this. She scrambled across the bed so she could face him properly, the bed sheet still pulled around her as she knelt before him. Her eyes were large and scared- but he knew better to fall for that. She was a consummate actress when she wanted to be. "I just feel so…so—"

He held up his hands. He had heard this speech before- more than once. "Wynina, I'm not interested in having this conversation for the thousandth time." He sighed, and brought his hands down to his sides "But you are right. I _do _know you and how you feel. I know you to be manipulative, selfish and, quite frankly, ridiculous. I know you feel that the world owes you better than you got, but that doesn't allow you to treat the people around you with the contempt that you do. I won't fall for it- not again."

He observed her reaction. Gone was the little girl lost look. Now her eyes held that nasty sheen he knew all too well. He geared himself up for a fight- which he hoped would remain only verbal.

_At least she only has pillows to throw at me, this time._

He decided to carry on before he lost his nerve. "I have, until this point, stayed with you for the sake of the girls. They deserved to have a single family, a happy home, to grow up in- more or less. Now Neva is married, I don't see any more reason to keep up the charade, particularly seeing as you clearly have absolutely no intention in trying to keep to the vows you made to me. I repeat: you can stay the night, but in the morning, I want you out."

"You plan to divorce me? Just like that?" Her voice was deathly calm- that frightened him. It wasn't a reaction he had come to expect from her.

"That was the implied message, yes," he said carefully. "And if you think it's been done _just like that, _that shows how little attention you have been paying."

"But…You can't! _I won't let you!_" Ah, there was the anger, right on cue. He winced- she was always loud when she was angry. He didn't want to wake the servants- and neighbours- to yet another argument in the middle of the night.

"Really?" he replied, keeping his voice low and measured. "We both know I have more than ample grounds to do so. I will start proceedings tomorrow by writing to the King."

She was quiet for a few moments. Her breath came slowly, but heavily. He wondered if he had ever seen her think so hard. "It will ruin me," she said eventually, almost hollowly. This time, the fear in her eyes looked real. "My career at court will be in pieces."

He didn't even try to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Oh, cry me a river. Perhaps you should have thought of that before you took every good-looking man you met back to our house." He decided there was no more to be gained from discussing this now. It was all over- bar the shouting, and that could wait until sunrise. "Anyway, I'm tired, I've had enough of this for the night. We can talk more in the morning."

He turned from her and went to the doors. But before he could step through them, Wynina flung herself in front of them, blocking his path. The bedsheet was still wrapped around her in a quite frankly ridiculous fashion, and annoyed him more than it probably should.

He sighed. "Let's not do this like children, Nina- let me go to bed."

Her face was set in a hard line. "Make me."

He knew what she was trying to do- say what you like about Wynina, but she was clever in her own cruel way. She knew if she could spin this the right way, get him to say and do something foolish, she could easily slip from being the issue to being the victim. But no matter what kind of bully Regin might have been, once upon a time, wasn't that boy anymore. He had _never_, not ever, laid a finger on his wife. He knew he didn't deserve a medal for that, but he was determined to not sink back into the person he once had been.

He also knew the limits of her patience- he knew he only need wait a little time before she would give in. They stared at each other for some time- Regin forcing himself to keep calm eye contact with her.

His patience was eventually rewarded. She let out an enraged sigh and took a step closer. "Don't think the gossips will be kind to you, either," she snapped. "If you go through with this- if you have the courage to do this, which I very much doubt, you won't be able to show your face in polite society ever again. Not that anyone ever really wanted to see you- it was me they came to see. You'll soon realise the best thing about you was _me._" Oh yes, Wynina was that nasty.

Regin knew his patience was also starting to dwindle, but he put on one last show of calmness. "I despite polite society. If I never have to see them again, then good riddance to bad rubbish. Now, let me pass, if you would be so kind."

She held her ground for a few more moments, before letting out a noise of irritation and stepping slightly to the side. As he stepped passed her, she grabbed his arm, fingers pressing sharply into his robes, digging into the skin beneath with enough force to cause pain. "You can't just kick me out- as of this moment, I am your wife. I have rights."

He smiled softly- that was where she was wrong. "The deeds to this house are in my name. That means I have complete control over who resides in it- so yes, I _can_ 'kick you out', though those are your words, not mine. I suggest you go back to your family, I'm sure you'll find a way to explain all this to them."

"Do you plan on living here by yourself then? What a pitiful existence that will be!" This was his wife all over- when in an argument, she could never settle on whether she was aiming to enrage him or get his sympathy, so she ended up trying to achieve both, but failing miserably.

Regin looked around the room. It should be a space filled with happy memories. This was where he and his wife had come the night of their wedding- their daughters had been born in this very bed. But now, now it seemed filled with a suffocating smoke that no amount of clean air could clear away. "Not that it is any of your business, but no. I think I'll give it to Issabel- they are still looking for a house they like, and she was always fond of this one, more so than Neva. Then Neva can have the house in Elyne." He nodded to himself. "Yes, that sounds like a plan."

When he looked at her, he noted that her gaze held a hint of genuine curiosity. "And you?"

"Again, not that it is any of your business- but I think I'll go home." He was truly finished with this conversation for the night now, though. He needed to go to bed and think through a the repercussions of what he had said. Because as much as he had been able to put on a bravado in front of her, he knew it would take every inch of nerve he had to go through with this. He strode out into the corridor.

"Wait, you plan to go back to your parents'?!" Her voice was incredulous.

Regin chuckled and shook his head, and turned back to her. "No- the Guild, of course."


	17. Folklore

Chapter Seventeen: Folklore

_I think you should come live with__  
__Me and we can be pirates__  
__Then you won't have to cry__  
__Or hide in the closet__  
__And just like an old folk song__  
__Our love will be passed on…_

"So, what happened after that?" the voice was eager and unavoidable, like that of a small child.

Sonea sighed and rolled her eyes, hoping that the darkness would hide her exasperation- and desperation. She thought her times of dealing with the questions of eager, unavoidable children were over- and she was not just thinking about her son. Skellin was either ridiculously rude or ridiculously stupid, and right now, with so many other things on her mind, she really could not for the life of her work out which was one it was. Couldn't this man get the hint?

"I don't know, Skellin, it was a long time ago," she said with what she hoped was finality, looked out the carriage window. "Plus, I didn't see _everything _that happened_." _Outside, the world was quiet, normal- how annoying. She couldn't help but wish something bad would happen, just to shut the Thief up.

_If you happen to be a rogue magician with a nasty habit of killing Thieves and their families, now is the time to show yourself. You'd really be doing me a favour._

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Skellin slap his thigh and lean that just bit closer to her. "Pah, of course you know what happened- you were all up in it! And how could forget something like that?"

Sonea felt Cery tense next to her. Ridiculously rude was looking more and more like the correct answer. "Look, Skellin," her old friend started, his voice the one Sonea knew he used when he was trying to not to explode. It really was sweet of him to care so much, after all this time. But then again, he had been there that day- maybe he did not want to talk about it, either. "Could you just-"

"I think the Ichani went to the palace next- if I remember correctly, Sonea?" Regin's calm but assertive voice interrupted Cery. He had not spoken in the best part of an hour, his slow and steady breathing, coupled with the drumming of his fingers on the glass pane of the opposite window to Sonea's, had been the only sounds coming from him.

As Sonea turned from the window at the sound of his voice, she was immediately aware of Regin's gaze. The carriage was dark, as neither she nor Regin had wanted to alert anyone outside to the presence of a magician with a globe light. But through the half-light of a lamp from outside, Sonea thought she could make out Regin's usual sombre expression- but she thought she could notice a hint of concern there. Perhaps all the time they had spent together had given her insight into the man. Or maybe she was seeing things that were not really there. Remembering he had asked her a question, she nodded in response. Yes, the palace had been the Ichani's next treasure trove. According to Cery, they had done quite a lot of damage by the time they left.

"They got to the King, then?" Skellin asked excitedly, his attention now on the warrior, and Sonea felt herself let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. He had a gleam in his eye as he asked the question. It hadn't taken Sonea long to realise she wasn't going to like him, however useful he may be in tracking down the rogue.

_The sooner we find the wretched person, the better, if it means I do not have to spend another minute in your company… Oh, where is Faren when you need him?_

Regin shook his head, turning to the man sitting next to him. "No, Merin had got out earlier, and was taken to a den belonging to the Thieves." _And I saved his life by killing Inijaka. I can't deny, it's a funny old world. _"He stayed there until…until the end," Regin finished slowly.

Sonea closed her eyes, knowing she should not, as spying requires one to be vigilant, but those last two words hit something deep inside her.

_The end._

She did what she always did when the old, familiar ache pulled at her insides- she held onto it, and let it remind her of the love that she had been honoured enough to find. Then she thought of Lorkin. She thought about the fact she had heard from him in the first time in weeks- that he had sounded well. In fact, she had sounded better than well, almost exhilarated. The Guild knew where he was, so no immediate harm was going to come to him. Today had been a good day- yes. Today had been a good day… It had not been the end, as Regin had understandably called it. For her, it had been just the beginning. She held onto that, too.

"Ha, I bet the Thieves had a thing or two to say to him! I wish I had been there to see it, but alas, I was sent away with my mother."

_And this day will be better when Skellin finally stops talking. _

In the corner of her eye, Sonea noticed Regin give the slightest shrug. "Not really- I was there, and can safely promise you it was a rather boring interaction. To be honest, they just sort of avoided each other, once the initial introductions were done. They might have been enemies at any other time, but that day they were all facing the same adversary, so they kept their distance. Plus, we were all too scared to really do anything but sit and wait."

"Oh." Skellin sounded disappointed, sitting back in his seat once more, and Sonea relished the distance he had finally put between them. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about the man that made her not want her near him. In the silence that followed, she allowed herself the half hope that his questions were finished. Her hope was in vain. "Wasn't that old Administrator done in at about the same time?" he asked, casually. Too casually.

"Lorlen- his name was Lorlen," Regin said softly, but deliberately. Clearly he hadn't appreciated the tone of the question, either. "And he wasn't killed by an Ichani per say, but when they destroyed one of the buildings in the Inner Circle, it came down on top of him. He didn't die immediately, he was uncovered, so he got to say his goodbyes."

Skellin let out a quiet whistle, seeming for the first time to be considering that this wasn't just a good story, but something that had _actually _happened to _actual _people. _Perhaps the first time he has thought that way in twenty years… _"That's not how you want to go," he said softly, staring up at the ceiling of the carriage.

Regin shook his head and looked down at his hands, which were folded neatly in his lap. "No, particularly for him- he was a good man. He is still missed by the Guild, even now."

Sonea let out a soft sigh, agreeing all too well. She hadn't known Lorlen nearly as well as some of the magicians still alive, and she certainly had no qualms with Osen, but Lorlen had left a whole that couldn't be filled in his role- a personal element that no one could attempt to emulate. It was one of the many, many great tragedies of the Invasion. Sometimes she thought about all the lives that had been lost and changed because of one single day, and couldn't quite bring herself to believe that such a terrible thing had happened.

Skellin wrapped his hands around his knee and pulled it up to his chest, foot resting on the seat. He shook his head slightly. "It's amazing to think that eight magicians manage to slaughter so many Guild magicians- and that the battle was such a close run thing."

_Oh no. He is getting close to it. _

Regin cocked his head slightly to the side, but kept his expression neutral as he watched Skellin carefully. "I'm not sure amazing is the word I would use, but I take your point- it is certainly not something I would want to be part of again. It was a terrible day, and only the people who were there and fought will understand just how terrible it was." There was a note of finality in his voice, as if he was trying to end the conversation.

For not the first time that evening, Sonea found herself watching the warrior with interest. There was something about Regin tonight. From the moment he had stepped into the carriage at the Guild, Sonea had known that something was not quite right. There was an edge to the man- he seemed more tense and stern than usual, and that was saying something. It could not be the rogue, surely- they had dealt with similar situations before and he had not been like this. And thought she could say a lot about Regin of Weinar, coward was not one of those words. Though Sonea tried not to be like the gossips she so despised for making her life difficult, she could not help but wish she knew what it was.

Then she felt Skellin's gaze slip back to her, and all such musings evaporated under his stare. The walls of the carriage suddenly seemed to be pulling themselves inward, leaving her nowhere to escape to. She knew what was coming and braced herself for it.

_It has been twenty years, you ought to be able to do this without shaking in your boots like a frightened goose. Get some control of yourself! _

"How many were left when you and Akkarin faced them in the Guild? Of the original eight?"

She pulled her gaze from the window to look at him levelly. She was not about to let this man realise how tormented she felt, and she was not going to allow that torment to control her. She had faced far, far worse than a few direct questions. She could feel Regin's eyes on her, and Cery shift again slightly beside her. "Three," she answered simply, softly.

He leaned toward her. "No one ever told me- how exactly did they ki—"

"Something's happening," Cery hissed, grabbing Sonea's wrist sharply- she briefly wondered if he realised he had done it. "Look!" he jabbed a finger in the direction of the Sonea sat beside, towards the building they had been patiently, or in one case not so patiently, watching for the last hour. A short figure, cloaked and hooded, crept towards the building. As they all watched, the figure turned and looked around hesitantly. Older, and dark skinned- just as Cery had described. A faint globe light hung above her head. As she slipped into the building, the light disappeared with her.

"Time to go," Regin murmured. Gone was the look of concern, now it was replaced with one of determination. He reached for the handle of the door closer to him pulled it open, then quietly got out. Skellin was on his heels, looking far too excited than was good for him. Sonea shared a look with Cery, took a deep breath, then followed suit.

A while later, when Forlie had been safely brought to the Guild and handed over to the Warriors on guard, Sonea realised the evening had been oddly anti-climactic. As her booted feet gently tapped their way through the empty university corridors, she realised the evening had been nothing like what she had expected. She had been expecting a fight, and yet the woman had put up no resistance whatsoever. The relief she had felt had been shattered when Cery had realised this was not the first woman he had seen- meaning that the hunt had to continue.

But, strangely, at this particular moment in time, she didn't seem to mind that much. Concerns for her son over the last few weeks had been far closer to the forefront of her mind than the rogue (not that she would be telling Cery that). Regin had proved himself to be very useful, which had taken some of the pressure off. And the hunt wasn't without leads, which would give her something to do rather than sitting and waiting for her son to come home. Perhaps she should be more worried, but at this moment in time, she couldn't bring herself to be.

She realised with a start, as her mind came back to her surroundings, that Regin was still with her. She had been so lost in her own thoughts she had quite forgotten he was there. She felt an uneasy gratitude towards him- not only for his help with Forlie. He had shown a level of civility she never expected to gain from him.

"Thanks for earlier," she said softly, not looking at him. She felt oddly embarrassed, then remembered why- for the first time ever, she felt in his debt.

There was a pause before he spoke, like he too had not really been present in the moment. "You're welcome," he eventually replied at a similar volume, before letting out a sigh of annoyance. "What an arse. We'd all still be there, recanting the death of every Guild magician in detail if Cery hadn't spotted Forlie." He shook his head with a rueful chuckle. "Is it bad I feel quite grateful to her because of it?"

She allowed herself a smile. "Well if it is, you're not alone- I feel the same."

She could feel his eyes on him now, but she did not turn to look at him. "Are you alright? He gave you quite the inquisition."

She decided it _was_ time to pull herself together. She rolled her shoulders and slightly and nodded with more bravado than she really felt. "Yes," she said with more certainty than she felt, "though it has been a while since anyone has asked for the blow by blow account."

He was silent for a little while, seeming to consider his next words carefully. She was grateful to him for that- her favourite people were always the ones who thought before they spoke. "I have never heard you talk about…that day. I never brought it up because… well, for all the obvious reasons." He paused. "So…people have asked you for the details, before today?"

She nodded. "Yes, unfortunately. It's not that people think I tell a good story- at least, that doesn't seem to be it. But they think I _am _the story. Who better to ask about what happened than the person things happened to? When trying to decide whether my actions were wrong, who better to question than me, the person on trial?" She shrugged. "Who better to ask, if you think about it?"

He looked straight at her, holding her gaze. "But you aren't the story, Sonea. Or at least you shouldn't be. Surely people must understand that?" His voice lowered then. "You know that, don't you?"

Sonea sighed- she might have said the same thing, a long time ago, when she still believed in justice and fairness. But she had learnt a long time ago that the world doesn't run itself on such rules. "Well, whether you and I like it or not, Regin, I am a part of the Guild's story- a part of its traditions, its…" she struggled to find the right ward. "Its folklore, I suppose. In the same way we learn about Coren and the Alliance, novices will be taught about the Invasion and how a man came back from exile and saved the Guild. And I will be part of that retelling as long as I am alive, which means people will continue to look at me like an exhibit. And whilst I prefer they read the history books or listen to the bards, I know I am part of history now, and always will be."

Regin shook his head and made a noise of disgust. "You have more patience than I would in your position."

Sonea looked at Regin. There it was again- that edge. A new, darker side of him that hadn't been there when all this started. He looked…drained. More so than he should after the night they had passed- sure it had been excruciating sharing a carriage with Fergum, but they had barely used any of their magical strength. She felt she couldn't just ignore this when he was clearly in some sort of discomfort.

_Look at me, caring for this man's welfare. Well, I suppose he has shown that he cares for mine…_

She cleared her throat. "Is everything alright, Regin?" She asked slowly. "I don't mean to pry, but—"

"But I seem a bit off to you?" He looked at her and smiled wanly. "I just have a lot on my mind- but I will be fine. Thank you for asking- but also not asking."

By this time they had reached the intersection of the stairs- he was to go down to the entrance of the Guild and use the carriage they had left to go home, she was to go up to get to the Magicians' Quarters. They stood regarding each other for a moment. Suddenly, she didn't know what to say. He saved her from the silence.

"No doubt I will see you tomorrow for the debrief with Osen?" he asked

She nodded. "Of course. Goodnight, Regin- and thank you."

He gave her a nod. "You're welcome, Sonea."

With that, he turned from her and carried on down the steps. She began to climb up, then stopped herself and turned back, and watched him. She almost laughed at the concern that she felt, for a man that she had once laughed about having knifed.

_It really is funny how some things work out._

**Hello everyone, hope you're all keeping safe. Finally, after so many months, my life seems to be finally returning to normal (or at least "Covid normal", but let's not go there.) I hope to keep up a regular writing routine so I will be updating this fic more regularly. See ya around! Cece xox**


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